Making the Connection
by Elfenwesen
Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes Johnlock & Mystrade. Update: Sherlock is dead and yet John finds himself in front of his laptop. Post-Reichenbach character study. Prompt: Monitor
1. Calendar

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, including (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade, pre-series and post-Reichenbach chapters.

**Chapter Summary:** After John met Sherlock he attends another therapy session and comes to a realisation. Prompt: Calendar

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** The prompt came from the incredible floppybelly (whose "Oneword prompts: Sherlock" you should definitely check out, it's amazing!). Depending on whether or not I get another prompt I will continue (if you have any suggestions you can prompt me in the reviews).

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><p>John went to see Ella on a sunny Tuesday afternoon in the beginning of March. Ella's receptionist had called to remind him to come and see his therapist again. So here he sat, opposite of a woman who had absolutely no idea of what was going on inside his mind even though she got paid for it.<p>

Her questions were all too predictable. She asked him about Sherlock, with whom he had moved in just over a month ago. Of course Ella had read his blog and therefore knew what John had been up to: running around London chasing criminals. She asked him, whether he thought it was a good idea, especially in regard to his PTSD.

It took John a second to reflect on her question. His psychosomatic limp and the tremors in his hands were gone, the frequency of his nightmares had decreased over the past month, he had established a loose email contact with his sister and he actually hadn't thought about the war in the last twenty-four hours. That's what he told Ella, who struggled to keep her poker face in place.

Thirty minutes into his session his mobile beeped and vibrated in his pocket. He excused himself and took the phone out to see who had texted him, although he already knew.

_New case. Meet me at Scotland Yard in fifteen minutes if convenient.  
>SH<em>

After three seconds of pondering he decided that it wasn't worth missing an adventure for the sake of being polite to his therapist.

"I'm terribly sorry", he said while he was already standing up. "But something has come up, I need to leave immediately."

He was already out the door before Ella even realized what went on. She wanted to call after him, tell him his mental health was more important than the short thrill of yet another case with Sherlock Holmes. But today John had completed the minimum amount of sessions for veterans, if he wanted to leave there was nothing she could do about it.

"We still have the Wednesday three to four o'clock slot open for you, Dr Watson. Would that be a convenient time for you?" John was in the anteroom, taking his jacket off the coat rack when the receptionist asked him, the calendar already in her hand with a pen hovering just millimetres above the page.

"No, it would not. In fact, I don't think I will need another appointment. Thank you very much, though", he replied and was out the door a moment later, feeling a sense of relief. He had another case to solve.


	2. Fur

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Summary:** There is an unexpected visitor already waiting for John when he comes home. Spoiler free.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** The prompt came from the incredible floppybelly (whose "Oneword prompts: Sherlock" you should definitely check out, it's amazing!). Depending on whether or not I get another prompt I will continue (if you have any suggestions you can prompt me in the reviews).

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><p>John was absolutely knackered when he finally got off the tube and walked the last few steps to his house. Sherlock had kept him up all night with their latest case, which the consulting detective had finally solved at 5:30 that very morning. John had decided that he had no choice but to go to work despite the all-nighter he pulled to help with the case, he needed the money.<p>

He came to an abrupt halt after he had stepped inside Baker Street 221. There was a cat sitting on the steps leading up to his flat, staring at him intently with yellow eyes. How the hell did it get in here?

"Arthur! There you are, you little rascal." It was Mrs Hudson, passing him in the hallway. The cat's ear twitched in her direction but its eyes were still very much focused on John.

"Since when do you own a cat, Mrs Hudson?" He asked tiredly, wondering whether the landlady had told him before and he had simply forgotten it. He wasn't Sherlock; he didn't have a mind palace, maybe a mind-cottage at best.

"Oh, no, no, no. I don't own Arthur, he is a bit of a stray, comes around every few days to get a bowl of milk and some food. Does it with all the neighbours, but he knows better than to go bother Sherlock. It didn't end well the one time he tried." By now she had picked up the pitch black cat which instantly began to purr, but still kept its gaze fixed on him.

John came over to her and held a tentative hand in front of Arthur's head.

"Oh, don't worry, he can be a bit of a show-off sometimes with his hissing and claws, but he never once bit me. Although he does have a bit of a temper if you keep him inside for too long because he gets bored." Mrs Hudson claimed.

"You know what they say, opposites attract and likes repel", John muttered while he petted the head and the chest of the little creature that lay in his landlady's arms. Despite his exhaustion he had to grin a little. Black, long and soft fur that felt so good between his fingers, a small purr, intent staring and getting bored too easily; that _did_ sound awfully familiar.


	3. Glory

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Summary:** A year after last seeing Sherlock John goes to visit him. Post-Reichenbach, prompt: Glory.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** The prompt came from the incredible floppybelly (whose "Oneword prompts: Sherlock" you should definitely check out, it's amazing!). Depending on whether or not I get another prompt I will continue (if you have any suggestions you can prompt me in the reviews).

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><p>When they had first ordered it everything had to be rushed. They had decided to keep it plain and simple, a black headstone with only his name engraved in it. It was the first headstone he ever had to order. Of course he had seen many people die before he had to watch his best friend jump off a roof, but he never had to organize a proper funeral. Mycroft had simply not taken his calls in the days after Sherlock's suicide, it was Anthea who texted him with the request that he should take care of the arrangements.<p>

John still remembered the undertaker going over the funeral protocol with him. Did he want a priest to be there? What kind of coffin did he want? What flowers did he want on top of it? Did he know that since Sherlock jumped he was strongly advised against saying his goodbyes in person? It was so much it made John's head spin, so when it came to the engraving of the stone he just wanted it to be over.

Now, exactly one year and ten days after Sherlock's death, John stood before his grave once more. He had come by often, not every day but always more than once a week. Whenever he didn't feel strong enough to go home after work, whenever he needed to be on his own to think, whenever he missed Sherlock so much that he simply had to see him John came to visit his grave.

That was the reason why he had started to collect pebbles from all over the city. Whenever he saw one that he liked he put it in his pocket and left it on the headstone when he next visited Sherlock. It was a Jewish custom, he knew that, but it seemed somehow appropriate even though neither he nor Sherlock were religious in any way. It was more practical than getting flowers and it was definitely more permanent. It felt like a little tribute to Sherlock each time he took the time to crouch down and look at a pebble. They were cleared away every few weeks, but still the amount of little rocks carefully placed on top of the simple headstone was a subtle way of showing that somebody still cared even though everybody else had seemed to have moved on.

Sherlock's name had been cleared a few weeks prior to the anniversary of his death. John had been very pleased with his accomplishment at first. He was proud of the 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes' movement he had inadvertently started and participated in. But then an official press conference was held. Now every tabloid and magazine printed features about Sherlock's old cases and many people who Sherlock had helped over the years came forward and gave interviews. His genius was finally recognized by the public, which was the reason why there were at least a dozen bouquets on his best friend's grave today.

John couldn't help the hostility inside of him. Yes, he had wanted to clear Sherlock's name but he was still outraged that he had to do it in the first place. Sherlock had been right, people believed what they wanted to be true. When he had been alive it was the scandal of him seemingly being a fraud that they wanted; now it was the story of the tragic hero who had helped so many people yet was never understood by society. It sickened him. All of this could've been prevented if people just weren't so bloody stupid all the time.

On the anniversary of Sherlock's death he had visited the funeral home once again. Since his picture had been everywhere over the last few weeks he was ushered into one of the little offices right away.

"What can I do for you, Dr Watson?" asked the friendly undertaker that had planned Sherlock's funeral with him.

"Do you remember that I did not want an inscription besides Sherlock's name on his headstone back then?" As the other man nodded John continued. "Well, I'd like to change that now."

So here he was again looking at the new inscription that had somehow only taken half the time it usually would. The Latin words were written in italics and went beautifully with Sherlock's name. It was a quote by Martial, a Roman satirist who had written snide poetry about his acquaintances. John had found it in the only book on poetry that Sherlock owned and thought it to be the closest to perfect he would get.

He went around the flowers, crouched down and let his fingertips run over the inscription of Sherlock's name.

"I hope you like it as much as I do", he murmured and placed the pebble from his pocket on the ridge of the black stone.

When he was already ten yards away he looked over his shoulder once more and read

_Cineri gloria sera est_

Glory paid to our ashes comes too late.


	4. Worry

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Summary:** Sherlock is travelling around the globe to free the world of Moriarty's accomplices when he receives a letter. Post-Reichenbach, prompt: Worry

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** The prompt came from the incredible floppybelly (whose "Oneword prompts: Sherlock" you should definitely check out, it's amazing!). If I am not prompted in the reviews I will go on to write to the prompts of oneword(dot)com

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><p>The thickly padded envelope was sealed with green sealing wax. The return address always changed but the wax and the seal stayed the same.<p>

Sherlock was in Germany at the moment, trying to follow the lead that Mycroft had given him earlier this week. He was staying in the hometown of the Rottweiler; unfortunately his stay coincided with an annual festivity in the honor of said breed. The constant barking as well as the many dogs he encountered in the city centre reminded him of the Baskerville case that he had solved with John.

The lead he was following led him from Zürich to Rottweil and his next stop would be Lima, Peru, and before that he had spent two weeks in Japan. He had to hand it to Moriarty: He sure knew how to cover his tracks properly. It had been three-hundred and sixty-nine days now since Sherlock had first started untangling Moriarty's web and he was far from done. This also meant that he had rarely gotten bored during the past year. Mycroft and Lestrade were working on digging up leads, which they would then pass on to Sherlock to investigate further. So the only time he had to be bored was when he tied up a loose end before the two 'secretly dating' men could come up with the next lead.

He was leaving first thing tomorrow morning. The only reason he was still there was that he had wanted to wait for the letter to arrive.

He had thanked the innkeeper when he handed him the letter and went upstairs to his quiet, way too sunny room. His German was a bit rusty, he had used his French and Spanish a lot more in recent years, but it was enough to get by and most people were only too eager to test their English skills on an actual Englishman. A Swabian innkeeper attempting to speak English was even worse than John trying to play the violin.

He locked the door carefully behind him and drew the curtains closed before he sat down on the bed, his back leaning against the cool wall.

It had been fifteen days since he last received a letter from one of Mycroft's minions. With a well practiced slide of his index finger he opened the green wax seal and tore out the thin piece of paper first. The little, straight handwriting of his brother told him in concise words what John had been doing for the last fifteen days, how much he had worked, where he went when he left the house and who had come to visit him. On the backside of the paper it was noted that Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade- Sherlock snorted at Mycroft using the detective's title and last name – were both well. The bit that interested him in particular was the mention of the new inscription on his gravestone. John always had good taste when he wasn't picking out clothing.

Then Sherlock put the letter aside and reached inside the padded envelope again. He opened the plastic sachet that he retrieved from the protective bag; inside it he found eighteen pebbles, all of them retelling him the story he already knew from Mycroft's letter, retracing John's steps through London where he had gathered the little stones on his way.

After inspecting each of the pebbles he got up and went over to his little suitcase, which was propped open on the desk. He took a jar out of the bag, unscrewed the lid, removed the balled up cloth from the top and let the fourteen pebbles slide inside the jar, where they quickly mingled with the other three-hundred and thirty-two pieces of gravel.

He was aware that John sometimes visited his graveside more than once a day and sometimes not at all for a few days. He knew that the anniversary of his jump would be hard on John, but visiting his grave eighteen times in fifteen days seemed a lot, even if he took all facts under advisement.

There it was again, the damned familiar sentiment that had put him into this position in the first place: he was worried about John Watson.


	5. Town

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** The world's only consulting detective is bored; a glimpse into Sherlock's case selection process. Prompt: Town.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>Sherlock was bored. He had spent the morning reaching out to the homeless network, acquiring a few new sources while handing out the baked goods that Mrs Hudson had given him for breakfast. When London's pavements got busy with pedestrians during lunch hour he went home to tidy up his mind palace. He couldn't be bothered with the remainders of last night's experiment on the kitchen table though. John could clear those away later.<p>

When his live-in doctor finally came home from the surgery Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, his own computer on his lap for a change, looking through the requests that people had sent in on his website. It was all dull. When he told John as much his flat mate came over, took his laptop away and sat down in the chair opposite of him.

"Why don't you take that missing person's case of the woman who reported her fiancé missing?" John asked while he browsed through the inbox.

Sherlock scowled at him. "It is obvious that her stepfather posed as another man in order to prevent her from marrying."

"Okay. " John bit back a sigh, for once he did not want to know how Sherlock had deduced that from a one page long e-mail. "This one seems quite interesting, though. One of the Stradivarius violas, the Mahler, was apparently stolen from the Sage in Gateshead, where Antoine Tamestit gave a concert last night. They don't want to call the police just now because they hope you can help them without them having to tell their insurance company about it. It could be nice; we would get out of London for a change, the Tyneside is beautiful this time of year."

"Really? You want me to go to a place where they can't even pronounce the word 'town' correctly?" The accusatory look John received from Sherlock was enough to make him move on.

"How about this one? A chef claiming he was poisoned and subsequently lost his sense of taste."

"Have you even read the name of the restaurant where he works? He never had a sense of taste to begin with." Sherlock retorted.

"Yes, the man who thinks one bite off my sandwich qualifies as a substantial meal is of course the best food critic in the greater London area." Frustrated John closed the laptop. "It's your decision to sit here and play the bored child. I for one will go out and get myself dinner now."

He set the computer on the armchair he had just gotten out of. He hadn't even taken his coat off when he came in he was already halfway down the stairs when he heard Sherlock call after him.

"Wait, I'll come with you."

John smiled.


	6. Professional

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John needs to take care of Sherlock. Prompt: Professional.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Sorry, there seemed to have been a problem with the uploading of this chapter. Hope it works now. This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p><em>If possible bring supplies from surgery.<br>SH_

Immediately John wondered if that was going to end in yet another one of Sherlock's experiments. He only saw the text an hour after it was sent because he had forgotten his mobile on his desk when he went to Sarah's office to do a consult for her. It was rather unusual for Sherlock to not send at least one follow up text if he didn't reply in a 'timely fashion'. Odd.

Also, what exactly did Sherlock mean by 'supplies'? That could mean anything from a packet of band-aids to examination gloves and syringes. Usually he was a lot more specific than that.

John was only scheduled to see one more patient and she should've been there ten minutes ago. While he waited for his patient to turn up John took the time to inspect the contents his black emergency bag, he indeed needed to re-stock. They were allowed to take a certain amount of supplies with them in their bags, so they could help people outside the surgery. When he was certain his last patient for the day wasn't going to come in he filled out one of the supply check-out forms and refilled his bag with examination gloves, bandages, a few mild analgesics and syringes to go with them, some more tissue adhesive as well as a new stitch-kit and a full bottle of antiseptic.

The entire way home to Baker Street John wondered for what kind of experiment Sherlock would need the supplies. He was probably only bored again because they had no case at the moment.

He heard Sherlock's soft groans as soon as he had entered their flat. Without thinking twice he went straight to his friend's bedroom and sure enough, stretched out on the bed lay the - literally - bloody mess that was commonly referred to as Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock?" He rushed to his bedside. "You stupid git. Why didn't you tell me that you needed a doctor rather than supplies?"

John rolled Sherlock's light body to lie on his back so that he could inspect the wounds. The midnight blue shirt he was wearing had a tear on the side and the edges of the fabric were suspiciously dark and wet, the side of Sherlock's face was smeared with dried blood and some of his hair was stuck to his skin, his upper lip had been split open by a nasty punch and one of his eyes was swollen and matched his shirt in colour. His knuckles, however, informed John that the other guy must look at least as bad as Sherlock did.

"It was obvious", Sherlock mumbled with a slur to his words and John added a possible minor concussion to his mental list of injuries.

"I'm going to get get some water and washcloths. Don't move." He was glad it was nothing too bad, nothing he couldn't fix with the supplies he brought from the surgery. Nonetheless he berated himself silently for not thinking of the possibility of Sherlock being hurt. Yes, it was true that over the last few months Sherlock and he had needed medical attention sometimes, but usually Sherlock was clever enough to wait for him before he got himself beaten up.

"I hope you weren't too fond of this shirt", he said a minute later when he cut open the arms of Sherlock's shirt and threw it into the kitchen sink through the open door. As he had suspected the cut on his friend's side wasn't deep, Sherlock just hadn't applied any pressure to it so it had bled unhindered.

First John freed the skin of the dried blood, he softly spoke to Sherlock and explained him what he was doing. He couldn't help but notice the warmth emanating from his friend's skin through the thin layer of latex of the examination gloves he was wearing. His fingertips were tingling, how good it must feel to touch that soft looking skin. Sherlock's moan when he applied the antiseptic made matters only worse and his imagination went into overdrive. He closed the cut with the wound adhesive, which he knew Sherlock liked better than stitches and bandaged his friend's waist before he took a moment to rummage around his bag.

_C'mon John_, he silently said to himself. _This is your friend, he is in pain and you are a doctor. Yes, you find him attractive, but now is neither the time nor the place. Okay, the place might be right, but the time sure as hell isn't. So stop fantasizing about Sherlock's body and be professional!_

John took the duvet that lay crumpled in one corner of the bed and threw it over Sherlock so that it came right up to his shoulders, before he went back to attending his other wounds, still explaining every step of the way in a soft voice. It was something that kept him focused and tended to calm patients down.

"Okay, Sherlock, let's see, what do we have here? The laceration above your temple isn't that bad. It bled a lot, but you probably already know that head wounds tend to do that anyways. I will clean it with the wash cloth now. There you go. I even got most of the blood out of your teasingly long hair. It should even have stopped hurting by now; the antiseptic might still sting a bit, though."

Sherlock had closed his eyes and didn't even flinch when he touched the open wound with the antiseptic wipe.

"I'll just glue the rims of the wound together now with the adhesive and that should barely leave a scar on that soft skin of yours."

Cleaning the split lip took a lot of concentration, which John almost felt embarrassed about but then decided not to care. Sherlock seemed not to notice any of his explanations or he clearly would've commented before. He was probably asleep after the day's exhaustion, since John knew for a fact that Sherlock had hardly slept in the last four days.

When he was done Sherlock was breathing steadily. John took of his examination gloves and looked at his handiwork. He couldn't resist stroking his fingertips over the dried wound adhesive just above Sherlock's left eye-brow and softly caressing the younger man's split lip with his thumb. He would be okay.

John went into the kitchen, got a new bowl of lukewarm fresh water and sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed again. He took his friend's hand in his and started to softly scrub away the dried blood from the long, slender fingers and the sharp outstanding knuckles.

"There you go, we're done. You still look like somebody didn't like your latest deduction but it should be fine in no time. You might not be able to play the violin without pain in the next couple of days, but that should be it." John let his thumb rub over one of the sore knuckles and put Sherlock's hand down again to get up when his friend's hand took hold of his.

Sherlock's breathing was still steady and John knew that instant that Sherlock had been awake and listening to him the whole time. The hand holding his had a firm grip and John looked up at Sherlock's face, his eyes were still closed, his lips, however, were genuinely smiling at him.

"Thank you, John."


	7. Swing

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock is nice to Lestrade at their latest crime scene. Prompt: Swing

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>The sun was shining so bright that John had to squint to see Sherlock inspecting the body that lay in the sand. Lestrade had called them in just after breakfast. It was a high-profile case, a son of a MP had been found murdered in the bunker of a very exclusive golf club.<p>

"Well, at least the unoriginal cause of death should be obvious to everybody this time", Sherlock said in his usual snide crime scene voice with just the hint of a glance into Anderson's direction.

"Please tell me it's not a blunt force trauma to the back of his head" was John's dry reply. He didn't want to compromise the delicate ground of the crime scene by adding his own pair of footprints, so he had stayed on the edge of the bunker.

"Of course it is. Lestrade, you're looking for a left-handed man who is approximately six feet and three inches tall and has practiced his swing a lot. Also, if I was in your position I might want to consider talking to the victim's priest." He stood up, put his black leather gloves back on and strode past John and Greg. "You can let Anderson ruin the crime scene now. I have all the information I need."

John followed him with quick steps and an apologetic glance into Lestrade's direction. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice once in a while."

Sherlock looked at him with a grin playing in the corner of his mouth, before he turned his head and called: "Lestrade, don't forget that the day after tomorrow is my brother's birthday. Our mother told me to remind you to take the afternoon off work."

The whole team at the crime scene looked at Lestrade with confusion. That the Detective Inspector's cheeks actually turned red – whether from embarrassment or anger nobody could tell – didn't help either.

Sherlock smirked, obviously very satisfied with himself. When he saw the frown on John's face he acted confused: "What? Isn't it considered being nice to politely remind somebody of their boyfriend's birthday?"


	8. Demonstration

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Mycroft never goes to a meeting unprepared, especially when it concerns his little brother. Anthea's POV. Prompt: Demonstration

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** So this chapter is actually a bit of a tribute to a wonderful Mystrade story I only recently discovered. It's called "At Least There's the Football" and it is written by the lovely sheffiesharpe. When I wrote this chapter I had 'her' Anthea in mind, because I love the way she is portrayed in that fic. It's not on this platform, but you can find it with a search engine. And as always: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>She wiped her shoes on the doormat, hung up her black leather jacket and walked straight into the drawing room, where her boss already waited for her. She put down the unsuspicious brown file folder on the little table next to his armchair before sitting down in the one opposite him. As usual there was already a still steaming cup of tea waiting for her. She took a sip. One spoonful of Demerara and a splash of lemon, perfect as always.<p>

It had been a long day already and she knew it would be several hours before she could even think of sitting down in front of her own fireplace. But then again she was used to the long hours; she had never been one to sleep much. Before it had been out of necessity, now it was by choice. She liked her job.

"So, what did you find out about this potential new flat mate of my brother?" Mr Holmes asked while noiselessly stirring his tea.

"Nothing threatening, sir." Anthea had learned early on what kind of data was of importance to him and what could be left out. She did not need to look at the file again - an eidetic memory was almost a prerequisite for this position. "His name is John Hamish Watson, received his medical training at St. Bartholomew's Hospital here in London, stayed there for a year after he graduated and then enlisted into Her Majesty's Armed Forces. He was a Captain in the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, five years of dedicated service, then got shot in the left shoulder while on a rescue mission outside Maiwand. His superior called his actions 'incredibly brave'. Since returning to England he has attended the obligatory veteran's counselling sessions for suspected PTSD and is currently unemployed."

She took a sip of her now perfectly temperate tea. Mr Holmes nodded, put his teacup aside and steepled his fingers under his chin while he looked out the window. "Any illegal activity I should be aware of?"

"In 2002 he was arrested by London police, but no charges were filed against him due to lack of evidence. He also kept his Sig Sauer P226R after being discharged from the British Army."

His head turned and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow and after a decade in his service she knew him well enough to see that he was slightly unsettled by this particular piece of information. He was constantly worried about his younger brother; he just didn't like showing it. She took another sip of much needed caffeine.

"He was arrested at a demonstration for gay rights and same-sex marriage. Apparently he punched someone who shouted abuse at the protestors. But as I said, there were no charges filed against him because that person never came forward."

Mr Holmes didn't smile, but again she could tell from years of experience that this was a very pleasant surprise to him. "It seems this Dr Watson would make quite desirable company for my brother, doesn't it, Anthea?"

"It seems that way, sir." She nodded towards the thin brown folder on the little table to his right. "I also obtained the notes from his therapist and included them in his file."

Yet another raised eyebrow met her words, this time accompanied by a smirk. "What did you think of them?"

"They are a load of rubbish in my opinion, but maybe you would like to read them in the car anyways." She had never been a fan of therapy. In her experience it was more guess work and clichés than anything else.

"Sometimes one can gather a piece of rather crucial information from these notes and make an accurate deduction." He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm afraid our tea time is up." With that he stood, took the file and they walked to the door together.

"I presume I am to pick him up and bring him to the warehouse?" Anthea asked when she slipped back into her jacket that he held out for her. It was a rhetorical question, they both knew that.

"That is indeed our next step. I'd like to find out more about John Watson's intentions in regard to my brother. Keep me updated if you find out anything else." He held the door open for her, his umbrella already in his hand, while she texted their drivers to meet them out front.


	9. Brunch

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock scared off yet another one of John's dates and John wants him to make up for it. Prompt: Brunch

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"Are you suffering from Wernicke's aphasia?" Sherlock's said dismissively.<p>

"No, Sherlock." The instant mockery of his best friend annoyed John.

"It is a reasonable assumption. As soon as somebody even does as much as hint that we might be an item you try to set a new speed record for uttering the phrases 'I'm not gay' or 'we're not a couple'. Thus it is only justified that I presume you are suffering from a form of neurological defect when you suggest that the two of us indulge in an activity that is known to be very popular in the gay community." His tone was matter-of-fact but the slight frown showed an indication of annoyance.

"Look, I managed to reserve a table for two at this very popular new place, because I thought it would be a very romantic thing to do – with my girlfriend. How the hell was I supposed to know you would be able to scare her away after merely three days?" He looked accusingly at his at times insufferable best friend. "It took all my powers of persuasion to get that table in the first place and I'm sure as hell not going to give it up now, I'd never be able to make another reservation there."

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then go alone. You know I wouldn't eat anything."

John took a step towards his resistant flat mate. "You know as well as I do that they'd send me away if I turned up on my own. There's a queue of people just waiting for somebody to call and cancel, that's how popular it is. And two customers are better than one. So I want you to come with me."

"Why don't you take somebody else? I'm sure 'Greg' would be delighted." Long, slender fingers provided the air quotes. John wasn't quite sure why Sherlock often felt the need to comment sarcastically on his use of Greg's given name.

"You know darn well what Mycroft will do to me if I call Greg on the week-ends." The last time John had called Greg to ask him to see a football match with him his mobile phone had been cancelled within the next hour and he knew it was the older Holmes brother. He had to get a new contract on Monday.

"Mrs Hudson then?"

"Sherlock, will you just accept that I want _you_ to come with me? You were the one who ruined my relationship after all and I decided to punish you by making you eat." John defiantly lifted his chin up a notch.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I will come and I will eat - under one condition." He took a step towards the shorter man, standing only inches away from him now, the look in his eyes a challenge.

John literally had to tilt his head back to be able to see his friend's eyes. He wondered where that lump in his throat suddenly came from. "Fine. What condition?"

"I will go to brunch with you under the condition that you do not correct anybody who assumes that we are on a date."


	10. Dismissed

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John and Sherlock discover that they have something in common. Prompt: Dismissed

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** First of all I'm sorry that I didn't update yesterday, it was a stressful day. Then I'd like tot hank the people who have added this story to their favourites or their alert list. I'm grateful for any kind of appreciation for this story. And then last but not least: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you are welcome to do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>„Thank you for your help, gentlemen, you're dismissed" Mycroft Holmes said just as the black limousine came to a halt in front of 221B and the door opened automatically.<p>

Sherlock grunted, but got out of the car wordlessly and John followed his example. The grunting, however, continued all the way up the stairs.

"He knows I hate that word. Only reason he ever uses it is because he knows I can't stand it" Sherlock ranted while he hung up his coat.

"Something we have in common then", murmured John while he took off his shoes.

"Army?" Sherlock asked without looking over his shoulder.

"Yes. Every time my superior didn't like my suggested course of treatment for a patient he would just say: 'Thank you, Captain Watson, you're dismissed.' He might just as well have said: 'Overruled.' I hated it. He was a daft bastard who only cared about patching the guys up as fast as possible so that they could go back to fighting a war he could no longer actively participate in. He saw them as broken equipment, not as patients." John's anger came flushing back. He hadn't thought about that time in his life for a while now. He took a deep breath and then flung himself in his armchair.

He looked at the still visibly worked up Sherlock and asked "What about you? What makes you hate the word?"

"When I was a child our mother would have afternoon tea with me and Mycroft every day. She had us sit down, eat a piece of her favorite cake and drink a cup of bitter tea with milk and no sugar in it. We had to converse about the details of our days, what we learned at school that day, how our instrumental lessons were coming along and what we thought of the latest reading she assigned to us."

John frowned and Sherlock turned around to look outside.

"Yes, mother gave us reading assignments. About fifty pages a day, to 'properly educate us as young men'. Anyway. Every time I told her about an observation I had made about my teachers or one of our staff, every time I had a different opinion on our reading she would close her eyes, sigh inaudibly and say: 'Sherlock, you're dismissed.'" He stood by the window, feeling John's eyes on the back of his head.

His voice was calm when he continued: "Whenever I hear that word it makes me think of her disappointed, silent sigh. It still makes me feel inadequate."

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was seldom that Sherlock volunteered such private information.

"Well, it's for sure then." He said.

"What is?" Sherlock turned around and came over to sit down opposite John, his expression a bit confused.

John looked Sherlock straight in the eyes when he said: "Your brother is a bastard."

He watched with satisfaction as Sherlock smiled genuinely, his body relaxing into the familiar armchair and agreed: "He most certainly is."

After John had made a cup of tea for both of them – Sherlock's black with two sugars, just like his coffee – they settled down in respective chairs with their books and read in comfortable silence. He looked up when Sherlock, who read twice as fast as he did, turned yet another page. He noticed the eyes on his face and raised a silent, questioning eyebrow without looking at his friend.

"You're not inadequate. A sociopath, yes, but not inadequate. Thought I'd let you know", was the calm reply to the unasked question. John turned back to his book.

"I know that." The remark was almost snide, but John could see the wide, satisfied smile on Sherlock's face without having to look up.


	11. Gourmet

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Desperate times call for desperate measures, so Sherlock gets in touch with an old acquaintance of his. Prompt: Gourmet

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>From the looks of his kitchen one would never have been able to tell that Sherlock Holmes was as much an appreciator of good food as he was a mad scientist. It was – of course –due to his mother. Every time they had gotten an A in school the boys had the choice: they either got a new book or a nice dinner out. Sherlock had of course always chosen the book, thus owning over five hundred volumes by the time he entered eight grade. Mycroft, however, had almost always chosen the dinner – he could buy books from his generous pocket money or read the ones his brother wished for.<p>

Their mother had never taken them to a fish and chips place, but rather to chefs who had trained in France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Russia or Japan. They got to know hearty German cuisine as well as the healthier Mediterranean alternatives and a skilled Japanese master showed them how to correctly prepare Fugu so it wasn't poisonous anymore. Sherlock had his first scoop of caviar when he was seven years old; by the time he was nine he could tell which exact region the fish had lived in before involuntarily giving up its eggs.

After Mycroft finished uni the only occasion to which the three of them would go out for dinner was their mother's birthday. Sherlock's food consumption had gone down quite a bit after he had moved out of his mother's house with its maids and well trained cooks. He had never learned to prepare a meal for himself properly, so everything he tried - apart from a very basic assortment of breakfast dishes - simply tasted inadequate.

But a homespun rice pudding with some fruit or a few scrambled eggs with bacon wouldn't suffice now. The internet – as it turned out – was utterly useless. He could taste each variant as he read through the ingredients and there was something missing in every single one of them. He had no choice but to make a call.

After one ring the phone was picked up. "Holmes' residence, you've reached the kitchens, Frieda speaking. How may I help you?"

"Frieda, it's Sherlock. I need your help." She had never minded his forthrightness, not once in all the thirty-five years she had worked for his family. She was a professional cook; she had no time for somebody to beat around the bush.

"That's a phrase I never heard you utter before. So spit it out, what can old Frieda do for her little gourmet?" It was a term of endearment that she used since he had refused to eat his porridge without a pinch of cinnamon in it when he was three years old.

"Do you remember the broth you used to make when Mycroft or I were ill?"

"You mean 'Frieda's-Cure-it-All-Magic-Broth'?" He could hear the knowing smile in her voice.

"Yes, exactly. Can you teach me how to do it over the phone?"

"Of course I can, but why don't you just order a chicken soup from that posh restaurant that your Mum took you to when Mycroft got his A for the German A-Level? You told me their broth was almost as good as mine. It would save you six hours of preparation and cooking."She knew the Holmes boys far too well. Whenever Sherlock felt under the weather Anthea would turn up on his doorstep with a pot full of broth from said restaurant.

"It's for someone special. Their broth won't do." He was clearing away his last experiments from the kitchen table. Soon he would need all the space he could get for peeling and chopping. That much he remembered.

"Oh, is it for your lovely housekeeper then? Of course she would taste the difference." He could hear the clutter of kitchen appliances in the background.

"No, it's for... a doctor. He knows too much than to get better by eating a common broth." Sherlock went into his bedroom and looked at the miserable looking man lying in his bed. The fever had weakened him so much he couldn't even have walked up the stairs to his own bedroom.

"I've cured many doctors with my broth over the years, so don't you worry. He'll feel better by tomorrow, but only if we get to work immediately. So let's go shopping, shall we?"


	12. Recycle

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** A bit of early morning post-case haze at 221B. Johnlock. Prompt: Recycle

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Here I'd like to thank the lovely floppybelly. Without her I'd never even started writing these little chapters and without her reviews I might've given up by now. So thank you. As always this prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>The shop around the corner was open from six in the morning until ten thirty at night. But in the last week he still somehow had managed to always find the doors closed when he came home and had time to shop. It was a testimony to his radically changed lifestyle. From getting his last cup of tea served by his mum, to getting it out of twenty-four hour vending machines at the library and the cafeteria, to getting none at weeks on end because coffee was easier to brew on the edge of a city in the middle of the desert. And now he had to recycle his tea bags because he couldn't find the time to go to the store when it was actually open.<p>

Dawn was already beginning to creep over London's rooftops but he was still too hyped up from last night. They had solved yet another case, but he would have to write it up later, he really couldn't be bothered right now. He sank down in his armchair with his cup of tea in hand, looking at Sherlock who had passed out from exhaustion on the couch.

It was seldom that the house was so quiet when all of them were home. No rattling from downstairs, no typing, no pacing, just the clinking of his spoon meeting the walls of his tea cup as he stirred the milk in.

Sherlock often lay on the couch, deep in thoughts with his eyes closed, but his facial muscles were never really relaxed, his hands always in some elegant pose propped up somewhere on his body. Now he was lying on his side, facing John, one of his hands tucked in under his cheek, the other lying loosely next to his chest. The long legs bent a little, so that he could fit on the couch at all. His barber appointment four days ago was cancelled due to them being on the case, so the soft curls he had been complaining about for the last three days now hung almost in front of his eyes.

John picked his book up from the floor and enjoyed reading a few pages in silence while he drank his tea. When his cup was empty he looked over at Sherlock again. The detective's knees had gradually moved up, he was getting cold in his silk shirt and fine trousers. John got Sherlock's duvet from his bedroom and covered his sleeping friend with it.

Immediately Sherlock's hands took hold of the midnight blue satin and snuggled into it, a pleased sigh escaping from his lips. John couldn't help but smile and brush away the soft curls from his best friend's eyes. He loved the looking for evidence, the chases, the adrenaline rushes. But somehow these little moments, when he got to see Sherlock like nobody else did, they were just as appreciated.

Yes, these little stolen moments belonged all to him. With that thought he bent down to kiss the pale, warm skin of Sherlock's forehead before he slowly went upstairs to his bedroom to get a bit of sleep himself.


	13. Belief

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John visits Sherlock, post-Reichenbach. 'Prequel' to chapters 3 & 4. Johnlock. Prompt: Belief

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** As always this prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>London's street cleaners might never forgive him. He was responsible for the sudden spike in graffiti activity in the city centre; for the massive amounts of flyers that stuck to every lamppost and every traffic light and subsequently landed on the ground for them to clear away.<p>

It had been eight months since Sherlock died and the movement had reached its climax. They were so close to getting his name cleared that John hardly got any sleep.

After yet another visit to New Scotland Yard that ended in a row he had come here, to the graveyard. He took the white pebble out of his pocket and placed it on top of the shiny black headstone. Then he slid down its side, sat down in the slightly moist grass and leaned his back against the marble.

"We're almost there, Sherlock", he said quietly. He didn't want the other regulars to overhear him. Not because he was talking to a grave – that was what most people came here for – but because the conversation was private. "It won't be long now, until they finally publicly clean your name."

He sighed. It was strange how used he had got to talking to a grave. "But to be honest I'd rather not talk about it. I just came from Scotland Yard and needed some time with you before I can face the world again."

He just sat there in silence for a few minutes. The afternoon sun was shining bright and he enjoyed its warmth on his face. He closed his eyes and let the back of head rest on the warm stone.

"I talked to Barbara on my way in. She's planting flowers on her daughter's grave again. I know you would like the pebbles better than flowers. It was the first time we talked about grieving. She told me it's her faith that keeps her going and then she asked what my belief was. You know what I told her? I believe in Sherlock Holmes. That's when I realized how far the movement has come, because she knew what I was talking about. She just smiled and said 'I believe in him as well.'"

His hand brushed over the green grass that grew just below the gravestone. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do when your name's finally cleared, what I can believe in after that. I guess I'll have to figure out how to move on."

He let his head fall down and his hands stroke through his sand blond hair all the way to his neck. The thought took over his mind for a few moments before he whispered: "I think it'll be the hardest thing I've ever done."


	14. Petition

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John thinks Sherlock's crime-scene manner could use a bit of improvement. Prompt: Petition

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** As always this prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"I think you should start trying to be nicer", John whispered over the dead body that Sherlock was inspecting so that the police officers that stood only a few yards away couldn't hear him.<p>

"To who?" Sherlock replied with an irritated frown while peering through his magnifying glass at the victim's nostrils.

"To everybody. You know they've started collecting signatures to make Lestrade stop consulting you" his colleague hissed.

"Don't be ridiculous. That won't make him stop. He would hardly solve a case without me." The consulting detective licked the victim's fingertips.

"Sherlock, you don't know who they'll show that petition to if you don't start acting a little less… psychopathic." Sherlock shot him an ice cold look. "Sociopathic, sorry. But still, you don't want to lose the opportunity to work on cases like these, do you?"

"That's a stupid question." He stood up and looked around at the hostile faces that were watching his every move. He took out his moleskin and quickly jotted down a few notes. "So, how do you propose I 'get on their good sides'?"

"Make small talk. Take an interest in their lives. Okay, you get your chance right away, Sally's walking up to us" John dropped his head as he spoke and looked away.

"So, freak, what do you got?" Sally took out her own notepad.

"Sergeant Donovan, what a pleasure to see you. Is your stray cat house-trained by now?" The consulting detective had put on his polite smile and a tone that sounded genuinely interested, but Sally looked at him wide eyed and turned around on her heels.

"Lestrade! You go talk to your stalking sniffer dog, I won't let him play his mind games with me", she called to the Detective Inspector who stood by his car, talking to the medical examiner.

"See, they don't care whether I'm nice or not. They're intimidated by me either way." Sherlock hissed and John put his hands up in resignation.

"Fine, you're right. Be your normal charming self." He intended to say it sarcastically, but somewhere between his left hemisphere and his tongue the sarcasm was lost.


	15. Key

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock is having a headache and John knows just how to help his friend. Prompt: Key

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from VampireYami over at deviantART, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>Sherlock was pacing up and down the sitting room. He walked over their armchairs and the couch with ease as if they weren't there. John sat in the kitchen, eating the last forks of his Chinese takeout silently while he watched his friend leaving his footprints on the Union Jack cushion.<p>

"I know it must be important. The wine stain on the carpet is the missing puzzle piece. But how? How does it all fit together?" He dropped himself into John's armchair, hugging the maltreated cushion to his chest and rested the soles of his feet on the chair that he would usually sit in.

"I think I'm dehydrated. Could you bring me a glass of water, John?" Sherlock let his head fall on the chair's back, closed his eyes, and listened to his flatmate pouring him a glass of tab water and then walking over to him. He reached up with his hand, not needing to open his eyes to know that John was holding the glass on the level of his neck.

"Are you experiencing any symptoms of dehydration or did you just need an excuse to make me serve you something?" John asked, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Sherlock did like that his friend took over some of the minor leg work during cases, it left him more time to think. It was a huge improvement on the skull.

"I've got a headache just behind my eyes" he said after he had downed the entire pint of water.

"Must be karma for your experiment on the behaviour of eyeballs in a food dehydrator." John took the glass from Sherlock's hand, went into the kitchen to refill it and put it down onto the little table next to the armchair. "Why don't you just take a painkiller?"

"I still have a rather high tolerance due to my former... habits." Sherlock sighed and started to impatiently rub his temples. "I just want it to go away. I can't think straight if there's this permanent pain."

"No wonder, you're doing it wrong." John stepped behind the armchair and brushed Sherlock's long fingers away from his temples. Instead he placed his thumbs behind his friend's ears and let the tips of his index and middle fingers lightly touch his temples. He started to rub the soft skin in slow, lazy circles and only with moderate pressure.

"It doesn't go away faster if you just rub hard and fast enough. It's a headache, not an erection, Sherlock." John's berating was soft and his tone was only half-mocking, he had grown accustomed to being the calming influence. "The key is moderation with both, pressure and pace."

Sherlock was silent as he felt his muscles relax, the tension he didn't even know was there fleeing from his body, he let out a little sigh of relief.

"Getting better? Can you think straight again?" John's voice was low as he asked. The headache slowly subsided, but he could think no straighter than before. The hormones rushing through him kept most of his mind from breaking away from the tingling sensation of John's fingertips on his temples and on the back of his head.

"Two more minutes and then I should be fine." Just a little indulgence. Just this once.


	16. Duration

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John and Sherlock find themselves having to share a bed. Prompt: Duration

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** I have to say that I had fun writing this one. It's my second longest chapter so far (only 'Professional' was longer). I find that whenever a prompt really inspires me in a Johnlock way the chapters just get longer and longer. Never thought I'd say this, but I'd really appreciate some reviews. Don't think anybody's going to actually read this note, but hey, it's worth a try. And as always this prompt came from oneword(dot)com and if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"I will not sleep on the floor."<p>

"Well, I wasn't the one to make the entire first floor uninhabitable, was I? So why should I sleep on the floor?"

"I never implied that you should."

"You know perfectly well that I don't have a king sized bed."

"Yes, John, I did know that, especially since I'm already sitting on it." Sherlock's expression was his logical neutral self. "It is only one night and I hardly move when I sleep – if I sleep at all that is."

That wasn't the problem. The problem was that John knew that he tended to move to any source of warmth in his bed when he slept. But he couldn't tell his flatmate that now, could he?

Sherlock had attracted yet another assassin trained in martial arts. During their fight in the middle of the night they had managed to spill one of Sherlock's more delicate experiments and dragged the highly reactive chemicals through the entire downstairs floor. Sherlock's bedroom and the sitting room were destroyed. John was rendered speechless by the amount of destruction when he came home from drinks out with Greg. Sherlock had sent him a text: "Something came up. Meet me in your room. SH" At first he and Greg had a good laugh about the ambiguity of the text; somehow it didn't seem so funny anymore.

"Fine", John grumbled. "Let's just go to bed." He went to his little bathroom to brush his teeth and mentally resigned to not getting any sleep that night. He would simply not allow himself to fall asleep. It would be fine. He stripped out of his jumper and his trousers and put them on his chest of drawers on his way back.

Sherlock still sat on the right side of his bed dressed in pyjamas and the blue silk robe. For a moment John wanted to ask how he had retrieved them from his destroyed room, but thought better of it. By now he had propped one of John's pillows on the headboard of the bed, leaned against it and read a book.

"Good night", mumbled John when he slipped under the duvet on the far left side of his bed. He pulled it all the way up over his shoulders and turned his back to Sherlock.

First he started to recall the name of every bone and muscle in the human body. When he was done with that he started to silently recite the lyrics of every song on the CD that Harry had sent him to Afghanistan. By the time he was done with the songs the alcohol had made his eyelids heavy. He decided to close them just for a minute, as he remembered the lyrics of 'God Save the Queen'. He fell asleep in the middle of the second stanza.

o.O.o.O.o

Sherlock had started to read _A Brief History of Time _while he was waiting for his flatmate to come home. The book belonged to John, but after the whole discussion about the solar system a couple of months ago Sherlock had decided he might as well read up on it this once. If the information was irrelevant he could still delete it in the morning. Furthermore it was definitely preferable to the dozens of novels that his friend had lined up in his small bookshelf on the wall. Novels were dull.

John had tried to stay awake and succeeded in doing so for the better part of an hour. Of course Sherlock had seen his face contort at his mention of sharing a bed. But whatever it was that bothered John, it didn't affect Sherlock. He assumed that his friend just didn't want to encourage more talk of them being more than just friends. He also made a mental note that he wouldn't mention their current sleeping arrangements to anyone. It was for one night only anyway, tomorrow he would book a hotel room for the duration of the repairs to his bedroom.

Next to him John started to relax and rolled onto his right side, which he normally slept on. Sherlock could tell by the abrasions of the floorboards that had been refurbished shortly before they moved in.

Ten pages later John had come a lot closer. His hand was only three inches away from Sherlock's thigh, which – of course – did not go unnoticed, but Sherlock knew that not everybody was as still a sleeper as he was. Three pages later John shifted his position again, his head was now resting on his friend's lap with one hand just above his knee.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John's breathing told him he was definitely still asleep. This must've been why he had stayed awake: He knew that he was likely initiate contact. Since John hadn't managed to stay awake Sherlock knew that he would be embarrassed if he found out. Therefore he decided to let John sleep. His friend was no longer accustomed to sleep deprivation, especially not after alcohol consumption.

When John moved his head a little and pressed his chest against his thigh Sherlock felt it: the rare rush of oxytocin. Almost involuntarily his left hand let go of the spine of the book and found its way into blond hair. He had only wanted to make John stop moving, but the luxurious sound that escaped from his friend's lips led him to slowly caress his scalp and weave his long fingers through the soft hair.

Sherlock was no stranger to adrenaline, norepinephrine and cortisol, but oxytocin was a very, very rare treat. So he put down his book and simply sat there for a while, enjoying the hormones rushing through his bloodstream. When John's right arm somehow found its way around the small of his back he couldn't help but think that maybe he shouldn't get a hotel room. What if he got up before John woke and simply told him that he couldn't find another place to stay the next night? Just for another night or two? John would never have to find out and he could enjoy this delicious feeling without ramifications.

No, he couldn't do that. What if John woke up when he wasn't alcoholised? He would feel betrayed because Sherlock hadn't woken him up, because he had let it happen. Of course Sherlock knew that John had the same hormones rushing through his sleeping body, but he was sure that that would not be a sufficient reason for him to indulge in cuddling with a man – not to mention Sherlock. No, this had to be it. He could enjoy this for two or three more hours, but then he had to get up. It was better this way. Oxytocin induced bonding and he couldn't allow himself to let his hormones take over now. He had fought long and hard to be independent of them, he would not give it up because he liked the rush, because the rush would pass. Every user knew that the higher you got the bigger the impact was when you came back down. He would not allow himself to be crushed – again.


	17. Pattern

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John gets Mycroft to tell him about Sherlock's drug abuse. Prompt: Pattern

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>Mycroft Holmes had spent his morning preventing a piece of information blossoming into a scandal. Most of his afternoon was taken up by using yet another piece of information to convince a terrorist cell that proceeding with their plans might not be their smartest move at the moment. The evening, however, was reserved for a meeting of a more personal nature.<p>

Two nights ago John Watson had called him, probably as close to hysteria as he could get, telling him that his little brother had taken drugs again. When Sherlock refused to explain himself to John the next day he had set up this meeting.

They met for dinner at a quiet, Italian restaurant that Mycroft knew could be trusted. Of course he was early and when John finally arrived they agreed to enjoy the food before doing what they came for.

When John had eaten up all of his pasta and Mycroft was done with his salad they both ordered an espresso. John leaned forward and looked straight at the older Holmes brother. "Why does Sherlock take drugs?", he asked quietly.

Mycroft added a tiny splash of Demerara sugar to his espresso and stirred. "There are two stressors that can make him relapse. One is boredom and the other one is emotional pain."

John looked at him wide eyed. "So he does have a pattern. Can you predict when it happens?"

The older man lowered his gaze to the tablecloth. "As you know, John, my little brother is not what you would call 'an idle mind'. I try to prevent him from being too bored by pointing the right people in his direction, people who give him cases."

"What about the-" John hesitated for a second. "-the other reason?"

"The emotional pain", Mycroft's face clearly showed his disdain "is of course one of the few things that are out of my control and thus much harder to manage. You see, it was what got Sherlock started on drugs to begin with."

"You mean Sherlock...?" He left the unfinished question hanging in the air between them.

"That is not my story to tell. What I am at liberty to discuss with you is my early warning system."

"Let me guess, you have one minion who especially watches Sherlock's every move in order to tell you when he might slide back into old habits." The snide tone was definitely something that John had picked up from Sherlock.

Mycroft smirked for the fraction of a second. "It is actually a lot simpler than that. You are aware that my little brother used to smoke. Whenever he is craving a cigarette he is bored. When I think he might be in emotional distress worth relapsing I offer him one. If he accepts it that means it is what I'd like to call a danger night, he needs to be monitored closely and if necessary prevented from harming himself."

"Right." John nodded. "What can I do to help?"


	18. Pastel

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock goes shopping and takes John with him. Prompt: Pastel

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This chapter marks my 20 000th word submitted to this archive. Yay! Therfore I wanted to make it a bit special and turned it into a tiny tribute to one of my favorite stories on here: "Five Times" by the lovely and utterly brilliant strangegibbon. And as most of the time: this prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"I think I've never been in a shop this… traditional before." John said while he looked around. This was definitely not where he went when he was in need of a new dress shirt. For the price of one of these ties he could buy an entire three piece suit.<p>

"My mother used to take me to Savile Row when I was in need of some 'proper clothing'. Once you've found a store that can provide exactly what you want, why would you go anywhere else?" The consulting detective replied while he strolled past the ties and cufflinks.

John had thought that Sherlock must be joking when he said that he was going shopping after yet another shirt that came back from the dry cleaners with a note attached to it: _There's only so much blood that can be removed before destroying a dress shirt._ He was even more surprised when his friend invited him along. No wonder people thought they were a couple when they were hardly ever seen alone.

"Mr Holmes! What a pleasure to have you back", a shop clerk came around the counter, a cup of tea in his hands. "Oh, you've got company." He eyed John while he passed the tea to Sherlock. "Robert Wilson, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"

The clerk shook his hand. "John Watson. A nice little shop you have here."

"Thank you very much. How do you like your tea, Mr Watson?" The slender man who was only a few years older than John was already behind the counter again, just waiting for John's reply.

"With a splash of milk, no sugar. Thank you." Mr Wilson slipped behind a curtain, into a little tea kitchen by the looks of it and came out just seconds later with John's tea in hand.

"There you go, sir." He handed the cup to John. "If you want, we just received the new spring collection of dress shirts, some very nice colours, pastels mostly." He looked at John as if his gazes were a measuring tape. "What is your collar size?"

"Oh, no. I'm just here to..." Well, why did he agree to come here anyways? He simply had nothing better to do on his day off.

"I'm the one in need of a few new dress shirts. Mr Watson here just accompanies me", Sherlock clarified and took a sip of his tea.

"Of course, I should have recognised you from your blog. It is Dr Watson, though, isn't it? My apologies." John shook his head dismissively, still amazed by how many people read his blog. "Well, Mr Holmes, I put some shirts away for you before our sale last month. I know you prefer the winter palette."

The clerk opened a cupboard that stood in the back of the shop and took out a little suitcase. Out came a variety of darkly coloured dress shirts.

"They are all your size and fits that you've bought before, but of course you can also take a look at the spring collection", he added.

"Thank you, Robert. I think your selection will do nicely." Sherlock stepped closer and picked one black and one blood red shirt out. Then out of the corner of his eyes he saw John looking at the shelves that accommodated the spring collection.

"Actually, would you mind getting me one of those pastel blue ones and one in light green as well?" Sherlock didn't even look up from the shirts that lay on display in front of him.

Robert looked from Sherlock to John and did his best to hide his grin. "Of course, Mr Holmes."


	19. Stranger

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John just shot the cabbie and takes some time to reflect upon it. Prompt: Stranger

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** I'd like to point out that my stories are all set within my own little version of the Sherlock-universe, therefore this chapter might make a little more sense if you take a look at my story 'Lunch Break Coincidences'. This prompt came from VampireYami over at deviantART, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>The shot still rings in his ears when he turns and runs out of the room. He just killed a man. Shot him through two windows because he had given a pill to the man he shares a flat with. God, he hasn't even known that guy for a week. He has to remind himself that he's a civilian now. For all intents and purposes he had just killed a man to save the life of a virtual stranger. Maybe not even that, because who was to say that Sherlock would've really taken that pill?<p>

Why did he shoot? Was it his military training? Never leave a man behind, no matter if you know him or not? Or was it something else?

There's no time for questions now; he has to get out of this building. No doubt the police will be here any minute. He takes the time to wipe over the door handle with his sleeve before he quickly runs down the stairs and out the back door. He can already hear the police sirens.

Doubling back to the front of the building he waits for the police cars to arrive. When Lestrade gets out of the first one he quickly tells him that he heard a shot being fired and watches as the policemen storm the building.

There is nothing left for him to do. He takes a few steps back to make space for the arriving ambulance. Now's a good time to assess the situation.

Why did he shoot? He wants to believe that it was his military training, but he knows that's not it. When he was enlisted he had always been able to push aside any physical attraction he might have for the other guys. The military was simply not the place to fraternize, especially not with men. When he met Sherlock he couldn't help noticing his cheekbones and the strange combination of those ice-blue eyes with the dark curls. But of course he also remembers the other man turning him down at the slightest hint of flirting.

So where does he stand on the topic of Sherlock Holmes?

He likes him, he's brilliant and does like to show it off to the point of being rude, but John doesn't mind. He's an enigma and somehow John wants to see what happens to him next with Sherlock Holmes in his life.


	20. Staple

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John needs to persuade Sherlock to attend a social event. Prompt: Staple

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Sorry, but this was the first prompt that really had me go blank. I tried my best and sincerely hope that you can forgive me for a rather weak chapter. Maybe I'll come back to it later if I come across a nice plot bunny. This (horrible) prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"You should go, too. It would be a nice gesture." John puts on his jacket while he talks.<p>

Sherlock just looks at him from the armchair with a stare of annoyance and grunts a little. The suggestion is not even worth a response.

"I'm sure it would mean a lot to Mycroft if you came. Moral support and all." He tries the guilt card, even though he's certain it won't work.

His friend rolls his eyes. "Is it my fault that he let Lestrade talk him into going? Also you should know that that is only one more reason not to attend."

"Sherlock, stop behaving like a little child and just come with me." John holds the door open.

He pouts a little and defiantly puts up his chin. "No."

"There will be cake."

"I'm not my brother. That point is of no value to me."

Of course food wouldn't work. "It might help you to network with other Detectives, so they'll give you cases as well."

"Unlikely." Even Sherlock knows that there is a certain amount of social skills required for networking.

John's patience starts to wear thin. "Stop being such an insufferable git and act like an adult."

The reply is dry. "I'd rather wear one of your Christmas jumpers and staple it to my chest than attend Sally Donovan's birthday party."

"You know there will be free booze, right?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him as if to say that he's not one to engage in excessive drinking. "That means you might be able to take some incriminating pictures of a drunken Donovan, maybe even with Anderson."

After a visible second of thought Sherlock jumps out of his armchair and binds his scarf around his neck in one swift motion. "Alright, let's go."


	21. Torch

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock is in the hospital after another drug-related incident. Pre-series character-study. Prompt: Torch

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This chapter is connected to chapter 17 'Pattern', but it also is a bit of background to my other story 'Lunch Break Coincidences'. And as most of the time the prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>"Okay, now let me see your adaptation." Stamford held his forehead and shone into his eyes with his torch that was concealed as a pen. When he had examined both his pupils he turned the light off and tucked it back into his breast pocket. "Both your pupils are reacting normally again. How do you feel today?"<p>

"Like I came down from somewhere very far up way too quickly." Sherlock looked at the doctor with resignation written all over his face. "Do you have any idea how bloody frightening it is when you're high and get dragged into a helicopter by three gorillas dressed in suits?"

"You know your brother is only worried about you." Stamford noted down Sherlock's vitals on the chart. He hadn't expected the young drug addict back for at least another couple of days. His cooling off period between being tremendously stupid became shorter. And something else was off.

Sherlock grunted and turned his head to face the door, outside of which there sat a man in a dark suit, reading the morning paper. "He's got a funny way of showing it."

Stamford moved into Sherlock's line of sight and closed the door. "Yes, keeping somebody from accidentally committing suicide is a really weird way of showing them affection."

The only reply to that was a snort.

"We've been over this a hundred times. I know I can't talk any sense into you when it comes to your little habit." His voice was calm and he looked at Sherlock intently. "But I will never stop telling you that you are wrong about your brother. He does care about you."

Just as Stamford finished talking his beeper went off, calling him to a critical patient. He shot the young man in the hospital bed an apologetic look and rushed out the door.

Sherlock stared out the window into the exceptionally sunny autumn day. "You're wrong. Nobody ever does", he told Stamford and wasn't surprised when he didn't get a reply.


	22. Rating

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John and Greg are having a night out at their favourite pub when John makes a confession. Prompt: Rating

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Sorry for not updating yesterday, but real life got in the way, but here you go. And as most of the time the prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>Greg looks at him, baffled with what he just heard. Then he shakes his head. "It surprises me that I am surprised by this. I should've seen it coming, really. I've known Sherlock for years."<p>

John chuckles a little and takes a swig of his stout. "Well, I guess it wouldn't have made much sense with the skull."

"So, you're telling me that you and Sherlock... you have a case rating system? That's bizarre! But then of course, the more bizarre it gets the more Sherlock likes it."

"Don't you have some sort of rating system at the Yard?" He's honestly surprised. People who have dealt with these things on a daily basis for such a long time must have thought of some sort of classification themselves.

"Well, yeah, we do. But I guess your system is more refined than ours. We usually just differentiate between 'rather obvious', 'tricky' and 'okay, let's call Sherlock on that one.'" Greg just shrugs as John giggles. "So how does yours work, then?"

"It's a ten point system. If there's a human body involved it gets five points, one point for a missing murder weapon, an uncertain cause of death is worth another point, two points if the dump scene is not the crime scene. But any signs of sexual assault, a present murder weapon or an obvious main suspect cost a case between one and two points." John takes a sip of his beer before he goes on. "It also depends on the victim, when..."

"I get it." Greg interrupts him. "It's complicated, too complicated for me after four pints." He clinks glasses with John. "But why do you guys need a system anyways?"

"Because it keeps us from having the same discussion over and over and over again. We don't take cases that are a five or less, but Sherlock doesn't leave the house for anything under 8." John shakes his head a little when he hears his words out loud. Having Sherlock in his life certainly shook things up quite a bit.

"So this whole colleague thing with you and Sherlock is working out?" Greg gives him an odd sideways look.

But John just smiles as he thinks of the eccentric detective. "Yeah, I think so."


	23. Fixed

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** After taking care of yet another of Moriarty's henchmen Sherlock can't help but think of what he had to leave behind. Post-Reichenbach character study. Prompt: Fixed

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** And as most of the time the prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>One of the things he had always despised was boredom, it was pure agony. But now he found himself almost wishing back some of the consistency from his past. He had lost everything that had been a fixed part of his life before. His friend, his home, his city, his job, his family, hell, even his coat was gone.<p>

Now he lived like a nomad, travelling the world. The hunt had made it necessary to be more adaptable than ever. He had always been good at hiding and blending in if he wanted to, but now he had abandoned his old appearance entirely. Some days it took him a few seconds to recognize himself when he saw his own reflection.

His hair colour changed every few weeks, going from ginger to blond to light brown and back, sometimes he even wore coloured contacts. He had given up on his wardrobe, because there really was no sense in carrying clothes around that would suit Russia in winter as well as Ecuador in summer. So now he just bought new clothes whenever they were needed and left them behind when he went off to follow another lead.

Five days ago he last ate food that his personal physician would approve of. It was Sunday morning now, he had just returned to his quarters after taking out one more of Moriarty's henchmen and his post-case meal consisted of one of yesterday's bagels with rancid margarine. All he could think of was one of Mrs Hudson's oven fresh scones with a spoonful of John's favourite strawberry jam and a nice cup of tea after catching London's latest murderer. He sighed. To Sherlock Holmes the one thing that was worse than boredom was having to be patient.


	24. Trunk

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock takes John with him when he conducts an experiment, one that Mycroft would not approve of. Prompt: Trunk

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** And as most of the time the prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>Sherlock had been bored all afternoon since he had solved their last case at nine o'clock this morning. While John had turned his notes on the case in a blog entry his flatmate stood right behind him, peeking over his shoulder the entire time, mocking his choice of words and punctuation.<p>

Shortly after dusk had fallen over the city Sherlock put on his coat, took his Leatherman from the mantelpiece and tightened his scarf around his neck.

"Do you want to come along for a walk in the park?", he asked.

"Sure, why not. Maybe we can pick up some dinner on our way home?" His friend suggested as he put on his own jacket.

The light in the park was dim, but the night air was mild. John's fingers nervously tapped on the heel of his hand when he followed Sherlock off the path into the little forest-like group of trees. "Sherlock, we are not taking a walk, are we?"

"Very well observed, John." He took out his multi tool knife. "We are here to conduct an experiment."

John groaned but took the torch that Sherlock held out to him. "What kind of experiment?"

"It's a long-term study which gives me the data I need to tell at what exact time something was carved into the bark of different kinds of trees." He popped up the knife of his Leatherman. John automatically raised the torch to enable Sherlock and himself to see exactly what he was doing.

After a few moments he realised what his friend was carving. "Sherlock! You can't write that!"

"It's a precaution John. I can hardly leave my own initials here." He smirked while he gave his experiment the finishing touches. He took a step back and seemed to be rather pleased with himself.

Scratched in the tree trunk were the initials MH and GL, framed by a heart.

"You better hope that your brother doesn't find out that you go around mutilating public property like that", John hissed to Sherlock as they stepped back onto the path and continued their walk, but the grin on his face betrayed his words.


	25. Residue

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Lestrade goes to a crime scene, where evidence seemingly connects him to the victim. Humour & Mystrade. Prompt: Residue.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** The inspiration for this chapter came from the review that the lovely floppybelly wrote for the last chapter. Therefore 'Trunk' is a direct prequel to this. As most of the time the prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

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><p>A tricky case was always a good start to a new day. It meant less formalities and more hands on police work. It was the first of March and a young woman had been found dead in the park. When Greg arrived on the scene Sergeant Donovan was already there. They exchanged pleasantries while he got into the blue forensic coverall.<p>

"So, what do we got, Sally?", the DI asked as he walked under the upheld yellow barrier tape.

"We received an anonymous tip this morning that there was a dead woman in the park. She's thirty-three years old, wearing an expensive new dress, the price tag is still on it." She briefed him on their way to the little forest that was the actual crime scene, reading from her notepad. "The cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the head, the temple to be exact, time of death approximately three o'clock last night. Looks like suicide to me."

"But?" He took a sip from his takeaway cup of coffee. It didn't taste the same without the first cigarette of the day to go with it.

"Well, there's no sign of the murder weapon. We took a swab from her hands anyways and it's already on its way to the lab to check for gunpowder residue. Also I think we might have a clue to her identity. She was shot while she was leaning against that tree." Sally pointed in the direction of a large oak.

Greg frowned. "What does a tree have to do with her identity?"

"See for yourself, boss."

Lestrade walked around the tree, first he took the time to take a good look at the toppled over woman who lay on the ground. At her feet was an abandoned clutch bag, he held it open with a pen and looked at its contents. Then he got up again and inspected the tree trunk, there were initials carved in it just above his eye height, framed with a heart.

"The carving seems to be fresh." Anderson had walked up to him from behind and was providing him with his input. "Maybe she had an emotional connection to this place. She could be either GL or MH. Wait a minute, GL, Greg Lestrade! Do you know that woman?"

"Don't be stupid, Anderson. She wouldn't even have seen them in the dark, also, how tall is she? Maybe five feet and what... four or five inches? That carving was not in her line of sight." He pointed out quickly, hoping that the sudden flush that he felt in his face was not visible. "No, my bet is that she was talking to her boyfriend on the phone and then shot herself. Afterwards he came to look for her, took the phone and the gun and then tipped us off."

"How do you know she had a phone?" Anderson asked huffily.

"There's a broken phone charm in a brand new bag." Lestrade replied, still feeling a bit too on edge to enjoy the rather Sherlock-like moment.

"Okay. But why do you think her boyfriend tried to cover it up?" This time it was Sally. God, those two really weren't the quickest. Or maybe he had spent do much time with a certain Holmes brother lately.

"It's the first of March and she's wearing an expensive, new dress. I think she proposed to her boyfriend on leap day, he turned her down and bought her the dress to make up for it, it's a tradition. When she killed herself because of it he most likely didn't want to be blamed, so he decided to cover it up. It was probably his gun." Lestrade looked at his sceptic subordinates. He used their silence to excuse himself for a minute from the crime scene.

When he was out of earshot he took out his mobile, pressed the number one speed dial and waited until someone picked up on the other end.

"Hi, it's me. I need to know exactly how much your brother knows about us."


	26. Exquisite

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** It's John's first birthday in 221B, but he didn't tell anyone about it. Prompt: Exquisite

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This tiny little piece of Johnlock is for all the wonderful people who added this story to their favourites or their story alerts. It always gives me such joy to see that somebody likes this story enough to add them to their favs and/or wants to know when there's a new chapter up. So thank you very, very much. Please let me also mention again that I'd love for you to prompt me (in a PM or a review). This prompt, however, came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>It was his first birthday after his return to England. At work Sarah had surprised him during lunch with a cupcake in hand with a single candle in it, Harry had sent him a text and Clara had called while he was on his way home. He hadn't told Mrs Hudson when his birthday was because so far she hadn't asked and of course the same was true for Sherlock.<p>

He had stopped at the shop on his way home, buying himself a pre-cooked cottage pie and two cooled pints of his favourite stout, hoping for a quiet night in. Sherlock hadn't had a case in a bit but kept himself busy by abusing their kitchen for his experiments. John still hadn't got used to that.

When he entered the sitting room his flatmate sat in the armchair facing the door, reading a book. "Is it safe to use the microwave?", he asked and trotted into the kitchen.

"Yes, but don't open the fridge." Sherlock looked up from his book long enough to make deductions about his day. By now John knew that was the reason Sherlock seldom made small talk.

The cottage pie was cooking in the microwave while he opened the first pint. "Would it be okay if I watch some telly during dinner?" Just because his flatmate wasn't the polite type didn't mean he had to be rude as well.

"I can blank it out, so go ahead." With those words Sherlock blindly threw the remote control in John's direction and he caught it effortlessly, tucking it into the back pocket of his trousers.

He ate dinner at his desk, watching a programme about the creatures of the deep sea. Just after he had swallowed the last bite his flatmate took his violin from the mantelpiece and started to tune it. That was his cue to turn off the telly, so John opened his laptop to see whether any of his old comrades had sent him an email for his birthday.

Sherlock started with playing a classical piece of music, Mozart by the sound of it, but after a few minutes the familiar song changed and fluently transformed into the melody of 'Happy Birthday'. More than a little confused John turned around to look at his friend who was genuinely smiling at him.

After he was done with the tune he quickly picked up a grey flat box that had sat on one of the shelves next to the desk for a couple of weeks now. He handed it to John, congratulating him as he did so.

"How did you know it's my birthday?" The surprise was audible in his tone.

"Two months ago Lestrade almost caught me pick pocketing him, so I practiced on you a few weeks ago. I just so happened to see your driving licence. Go on then, open your present." Sherlock said, motioning towards the grey box that now sat on his friend's lap.

John wasn't sure whether or not to believe Sherlock's story, but one thing he had picked up on quickly was not to question it when the man did something nice. One look told him that his friend actually seemed to be rather nervous. So he went ahead and opened the light box. There was soft, red paper wrapped around its contents, he peeled the layers back and discovered a classic black jumper. He took it out of its wrapping and immediately felt the exquisite fabric, pure cashmere.

"You shouldn't have, Sherlock. You really shouldn't have. I don't know what to say." He ran his fingers over the extremely soft material, completely stunned. This was without a doubt the most expensive piece of clothing he ever owned and something told him that it would look rather good on him. "Thank you. It's wonderful."

Sherlock smiled with relief, obviously glad that his best friend liked his present. "You're most welcome, John."


	27. Temper

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** They're having a night out when John confronts Greg about his involvement with Mycroft. Mystrade. Prompt: Temper.

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** I just wanted to let you know that you blew me away. After my comment on how much I liked it when people added me to their favourites or story alert lists I got a bunch of new adds. Thank you so much, you made my day! Also: I know that it's been a while since we had a romantic Johnlock chapter, but the prompts just didn't give me the right inspiration and I don't want to force it. As most of the time this prompt came from oneword(dot)com, **if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.**

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><p>Today they had their weekly night out, or at least that's what they liked calling it. As a matter of fact they had no set weekday and they only made it out every other week or so, but both men liked to think that they could manage to make a weekly meeting. It was nothing elaborate, most of the times they just went to a pub, talking, drinking beer, watching football or playing darts.<p>

After Greg had set down his third pint in front of him John raised his beer and they clinked glasses.

"So, tell me, what is Mycroft like when he's 'off duty'?", John asked bluntly.

Greg almost choked on his beer. "What? How would I know?" Was his hasty reply when he had his throat back under control.

"Sherlock observed and deduced and you know how much he likes to show off his brilliance, so I know about you two." He bumped his knee against Greg's under the table. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone. I can't vouch for Sherlock but I think that he enjoys teasing you both about it too much to just make it public."

"Should've known he would figure it out sooner or later." The older man took another mouthful of his beer before he continued. "Well, Mycroft is hardly ever really 'off duty', if there was a way he'd probably already have his phone implanted. I mean, I get it, I'm a copper, it can be the same with me. He really tries though, to make time for me in his schedule."

John smiled at the almost shy expression on his friend's face. "To be honest I never would've thought that you would even consider..." He hesitated a bit, considering how to call it. "...seeing Mycroft Holmes the way that Sherlock drives you up the wall sometimes."

"Same here. But Mycroft's different from Sherlock. He doesn't have the same temper. Where Sherlock would start moping or throw a fit Mycroft's a lot more... contained. He's great at bottling up his emotions, all of them." A wistful smile found its way on his lips and he answered the unasked question that hang between them. "That makes it difficult between us. It's getting easier now, bit by bit, the most difficult part was getting in. It might be hard for you to understand, because you seem to be some special case, but earning the trust of a Holmes is a long and rocky road."

The doctor scrutinised the DI. His posture had changed when he started to talk about the man in his life, it was obvious to John that his friend had found someone for whom he would go to great lengths to make it work. The Holmes brothers, however, were not known to be aware of the sacrifices others made for them.

He sat up a bit straighter and looked at his friend intently. "Okay, just tell me one thing and then I won't bring it up again unless you want to talk about it. Is he worth it?"

Greg took a moment, thinking of the most mysterious man he knew. It made him smile. "Absolutely."


	28. Cluedo

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John finds Sherlock in a hospital bed, doing something with a girl he never thought he would see Sherlock do. Humour. Prompt: Cluedo

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD, "_Cluedo Junior: The Case of the Missing Cake_" belongs to Hasbro.

**A/N:** This prompt came from the lovely lemondrops97 and I kind of compromised on her wishes, because I think that the infamous Cluedo game has been done a lot and also I couldn't do it myself as I never played proper Cluedo.

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><p>John had turned his mobile off for once. After Sherlock had ruined their date a few nights ago Ruth had only agreed to meet him for lunch today if he switched off his phone and didn't tell Sherlock they were meeting. After sitting opposite of her, listening to her endlessly rambling about her nieces and nephews John had to admit that this time Sherlock had been right. Ruth was dull.<p>

When she finally said she had to go back to work they quickly said their goodbyes and he turned his phone back on. It immediately buzzed with a text that had been sent to him a little over an hour ago.

_Come to Bart's paediatric wing when your date is over. New case._

_SH_

That was odd, but then again the words odd, curious, weird and strange had underwent quite a bit of redefinition in his book over the past year. He hailed a cab and followed the summons of the one and only consulting detective in the world.

When he found Sherlock in the hospital he had already been briefed by Sergeant Donovan. A child had been the only witness to its parents violent abduction but refused to talk to anybody but Sherlock Holmes. Actually the case was almost closed as Sherlock had already figured out that the parents were held captive in Brighton. His friend had stayed with the little girl because she had begged him to when she was told that the local police were on their way to save her parents.

The sight of Sherlock, sitting cross legged on the hospital bed, his coat and jacket thrown over the back of a chair next to the bed was not what had John stop in bafflement. He was playing Cluedo with an eight year old child and he didn't look like he was about to murder anybody.

"You have to give your last tip on who ate the cake now." The little girl who he knew to be called Nicolette put her hands over her eyes after which Sherlock dropped a little paper coin into a box. Then he mirrored Nicolette's actions and blindfolded himself with his palms while she put down her suspicion.

"You must be a very brave girl to play Cluedo with that one", John said as he finally entered the room. "Hi, I'm John. I'm Sherlock's friend and sometimes I help him with his detective work."

Nicolette smiled at him in recognition. "I know you from your blog. My mama reads it a lot, that's how I knew about Sherlock. He is great at figuring things out in the real world, but he's really bad at being a fictional detective."

John laughed and sat down on the chair that stood next to the bed. "I know! You should see our Cluedo board at home. He pinned it to the wall with an actual knife because he was so bad at it."

The eyes of the little girl went wide before she started to giggle a little.

"Well, first of all, this is just Cluedo junior, which was clearly designed for people who are a lot..."He saw John shooting him a warning look. "...younger than I am. Also, I only keep loosing because the person who really ate all the cake is not even on the suspect list."

"And who would that be?", John enquired, already expecting one of Sherlock's 'logical' theories when it came to Cluedo.

The consulting detective smirked. "Well, it was Mycroft of course."


	29. Anemones

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John and Sherlock take a walk in the park. Mini character study. Prompt: Anemones

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Please excuse the biology talk, but this lovely prompt from Balrog Herder made me think of my botany class last year. Only difference between me back then and Sherlock in the story is that I was walking around with half a library. *sighs* I need a mind palace.

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><p>It was one of the rare beautiful spring days in London. They were in between cases and Molly was on a vacation, which meant that Sherlock had nobody to provide him with body parts. So when John had suggested a walk in the park to get a bit of vitamin D he had agreed.<p>

They had only known each other for a few months now and John was still very much fascinated by his mind. It was rather refreshing, but also quite amusing. Because if John got bored he liked to test Sherlock's abilities. He would point out random people and asked him what they had for lunch or whether he could determine where they were going. Sometimes he would drag John along to ask the people whether he was right, because otherwise how would John know that his admiration was justified?

Today there weren't many people around so John took to testing his memory instead of his deduction skills.

"What's that?" He pointed to a patch of delicate white flowers that grew just off the path.

"Ranunculaceae family." Sherlock quickly bent down and yanked one of the little plants out of the ground to scrutinise it with his pocket magnifier. He counted the petals, sepals and filaments, took in the colour of the flower and the form and arrangement of the leaves. "It's an Anemone nemorosa, commonly known as windflower or thimbleweed."

"That's the third anemone today and they all looked different." He snatched the little flower from Sherlock's hand and took a closer look at it.

"There are one hundred and fifty-two species of anemones that we know of and they vary largely in size, leaf shape and petal colour." He put his magnifier back in his pocket as they strolled on.

"Can you tell the difference between all of them?" John asked curiously.

"Only the ones that I'm most likely to encounter, the ones that are either indigenous to Europe or used as an ornamental plant. About seventy or so, all of them slightly toxic, so wash your hands before you eat anything." His tone was matter-of-fact when he answered.

Squinting against the bright sunlight John looked at him. "The capacity of your brain is incredible."

Sherlock stole a quick glance in John's direction, taking in the admiration on his friend's face. The compliments that sometimes just seemed to burst out of John still gave him this little satisfied rush of being approved of. It was completely irrational and therefore dangerous, but he wasn't worried about it because he was sure John would stop before he got used to it.


	30. Drifting

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock receives a letter from London while he is taking down Moriarty's web. Post Reichenbach Angst. Prompt: Drifting

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **I just wanted to thank you guys really quickly for all the wonderful reviews, adds and prompts that you sent my way. I'm over the moon with how much feedback this story has received in the last few days. Thanks again. Although I do have a few of your prompts lined up I wanted to keep up with the others as well, so this is yet another prompt from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>Sherlock was drifting in and out of sleep. It was such a waste of time. But what else was he supposed to do? Being on an plane narrowed the amount of options for entertainment significantly. He was on his way from Reykjavík to Riga and his knowledge of both Icelandic and Latvian were limited. Therefore conversation was not an option, which was a pity, he always liked testing out new personas on strangers on a plane. They always asked many questions to pass the time and thus gave him the possibility to fine tune his cover.<p>

Finally the turbulences made him give up the idea of sleep altogether. When other teenagers wanted to learn the phrase 'I love you' in as many languages as possible Sherlock had settled for a much more practical sentence. He pressed the call button and asked the flight attendant for a cup of coffee.

When he got it he thanked the flight attendant, put it on his little tray table and took out the letter that he had received a few days ago. He had read it before. The first page was a very concise report that looked more like the protocol of a business meeting than his last piece of home. The second page, however, was written in a loopy hand and a lot more emotional.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Your brother stopped by yesterday to give me notice that he would send you another report today and told me that I could add something if I wanted. So I asked him to lend me Greg for the night and I went to a pub with John and him last night._

_John actually shared my chips yesterday, he's slowly gaining some of that weight back. I'll ask Mycroft to send you a picture with the next letter. I don't think he's going to work at the surgery for much longer, he seems unhappy there. But then again that might not have much to do with it._

_We talked about you, not just because of the movement. Greg told funny anecdotes and John commented on them. After the first pint his words always get a little harsher, he still doesn't glorify you, you know? He sees you for who you are – or were. Sometimes, when he goes to the bar to get the next round after we talked about you he thinks we're not looking and then gets this... expression. Greg and I call it the 'post-Sherlock face', because there's really no other way to describe it. Then he orders a shot, downs it, breathes deeply for a few seconds and then he starts smiling again as he walks back over to us._

_I know it sounds bad and it is. But I want you to know that we're trying our best to take care of him. Although he gets a bit better every day it still breaks my heart to see him like this. Just... come home safely soon._

_Yours,  
>Molly<em>

He knew that he wouldn't be able to comply to her request, because he was still far from finished with the web. His eyes still fixed on the letter his mind went to a place where he didn't want it to go. Back to Baker Street, into a future where it had taken him too long and there's nothing but an empty flat waiting for him.


	31. Catcher

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock's strangely good looks are impossible to miss. What was John's first impression of him? Prompt: Catcher

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **You've probably all noticed that I'm more of an angsty post-Reichenbach writer at the moment, but if you're the same as me and need your daily dosage of smut and fluff, why don't you go check out my inspiration for this series? It's floppybelly's wonderful 'Oneword prompts: Sherlock'. And fyi: this prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>John follows Mike through the hallways of Bart's. The familiar smell alone triggers a flashback, although it now feels like another lifetime. Mike's giving him a little tour which ends in the morgue. They enter the lab together and John looks around. There's plenty of new equipment to perform the new tests that they couldn't even dream of when he trained here. "Bit different from my day", he acknowledges.<p>

"You have no idea", Mike says with a chuckle.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." The question comes from a man working at the bench at the far end of the room.

John hadn't paid attention to him when he first entered the room but now his head automatically jerks into his direction and he can't take his eyes off anymore. He's quite a bit taller than John, his dark brown hair accentuates his light eyes and the black suit stands out against the pale skin. John wonders what it would feel like to stroke over those cheekbones with his thumb. The strange man is quite the eye-catcher.

They're still talking about phones when he stops taking in the other man's appearance.

"I prefer to text", the stranger says and John cocks his head. They have something in common then.

"Sorry, it's in my coat", is all that Mike replies and the other man seems to reluctantly resign himself to waiting until he's out of here to send the text.

Then John takes out his own phone, he doesn't really know why, but that man has something fascinating about him. "Here, use mine."


	32. Capture

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** A photographer shows up at the doorstep of 221B with a surprise for its two famous tenants. Prompt: Capture

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **Can you believe this is already chapter 32? This is absolutely insane. A special shout out goes to floppybelly who makes me laugh and smile with her prompted chapters when I just feel like writing angst. Thank you so much. FYI: this prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>The worst thing about being famous were most definitely the unflattering pictures that were published on the internet and in the print media. It was one thing that he was no longer a <em>private<em> detective, but having people comment on his and John's appearances was annoying. Well, it wasn't actually the comments. He didn't read them and didn't care for them either. But John did and he was less than pleased with them, repeating the most vicious or pornographic comments out loud all day.

One day a photographers had the audacity to show up on their doorstep. Sherlock was just coming home when he saw the man approaching their door. He quickly grabbed his neck and shoved him inside the house and up the stairs, completely ignoring his protests.

It was fair to say that John was startled when Sherlock came home with a hostage. That was a new one. When his flatmate finally let go, the young man looked around, flustered, but greeted John as soon as he spotted him sitting on the couch reading the paper.

"Hello Dr Watson. I'm sorry to..." He glanced nervously at Sherlock. "...intrude like this. Actually I just wanted to leave this for you." To illustrate his words he held up a large, brown envelope.

"What's in it?", Sherlock barked at him, because the last few months had taught him not to trust the media.

The young man flinched at the harsh sound. "Just two copies of a photo I took of you guys just before the press conference yesterday."

"I presume it shows us in an ambiguous position and you want us to give you money or you'll go ahead and send it to one of the tabloids?" Sherlock could see that the cold tone of his voice made John shiver.

"What? No!" The photographer looked abhorred, took the envelope, ripped it open and handed John one copy of the picture and Sherlock the other. "When I saw what I got I thought you might like to have it."

The young man had taken a photo of the two friends, both barely holding back a chuckle. Sherlock's hand was on John's shoulder and the older man looked up at his flatmate with a contented expression on his soft features. Somehow this stranger had managed to capture their friendship and mutual respect with a camera.

Now they looked at each other across the room, both with the hint of a smile on their faces as they remembered that little, intimate moment in which they had shared an in-joke just before yet another obligatory appearance in the public eye.

John stood up and shook the hand of the young man. "Thank you for this pleasant surprise. You must excuse Sherlock, but I'm sure you understand that we're still a bit overwhelmed with all the sudden attention from the media."

"No worries, Dr Watson. If you want it digital, it's on this pen drive." He handed it to John. "But I'm afraid I have to go now, just wanted to drop of the photos. Oh, by the way, my girlfriend's a big fan of your blog. She'll be so jealous when I tell her that I actually met you. Keep up the good work, both of you." After nodding towards both of them he turned and left.

Sherlock looked down at the photograph in his hands again. He had never seen himself looking so at ease and comfortable with himself in a picture, not even in the ones that were taken in his childhood. "Send it to my email, John, will you?"


	33. Splash

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John is not quite sure that he heard right when Sherlock asked him to punch him in the face. Scene filler for Scandal. Prompt: Splash

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **When I started writing this chapter I was suffering from writer's block, but as I went along it just sort of started to play out in my head and I have to say I'm rather pleased with the result. This is the daily prompt from oneword(dot)com, because the three prompts that I still have lined up from you guys have yet to inspire a pretty plot bunny. Please bear with me. Also: I'd just like to quickly thank Larilie for a very nice late-night conversation yesterday.

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><p>"Punch me in the face", his friend tells him and gestures towards his cheek.<p>

He can't help but frown. Did he just hear that right? "Punch you?"

Sherlock looks annoyed. "Yes. Punch me, in the face." He gestures to his cheek again and frowns as well when he adds sarcastically: "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but usually it's subtext." His reply is dry and he only states it because it's the witty thing to say, not because it's true, but Sherlock doesn't need to know that, does he? Because to be honest he has been a pain in the arse lately.

The other man is clearly frustrated now because he doesn't move an inch. "Oh, for god's sakes", Sherlock mutters under his breath before he throws the first punch.

It catches John off guard, makes him stumble backwards and groan in pain. When he straightens up he is genuinely angry. What is wrong with that man? He's had enough of his erratic behaviour. After months of assisting him with cases, being nothing but bloody loyal the entire time, establishing the most normal relationship this madman has with anybody all he gets is a punch in the face? Well, retribution is in order, because he asked for it. Literally.

So that's exactly what John's going to do. Instinctively he chooses his weaker right instead of his dominant left, aims for the cheek that Sherlock was gesturing to instead of his eye or his jaw where it would do some real damage. But despite all that the force of his punch sends Sherlock to the ground and somehow that makes him feel just a little bit better. He rubs and stretches his knuckles because they hurt like hell, he's not used to it anymore.

Sherlock gets up from the ground and actually thanks him. His punch added the desired 'splash of colour' to his friend's face, but somehow it isn't enough. All this built up frustration makes John lash out, he jumps Sherlock and throws him to the ground again.

They struggle and bloody hell, how come a man as slim and lanky as Sherlock can manage to actually struggle his way up even though he's practically lying on top of him, pinning him to the street? Where does that strength come from?

Somehow they end up with Sherlock being doubled over, John keeping him in the tightest headlock possible from behind. He feels his flatmate's hands on his arm, frantically trying to loosen his grip.

"Okay! I think we're done now, John!" His voice is choked but John is so tired of being ordered around by this tease, it's time to show him just exactly what he's made of.

"You wanna remember Sherlock, I was a soldier, I killed people!" He says it through gritted teeth because it's surprisingly hard to keep the upper hand in this struggle.

"You were a doctor!" Of course the sociopathic know-it-all didn't have to think a second for a comeback.

"I had bad days!" He tries to tighten his grip, but Sherlock catches him off guard yet again and throws himself back against his chest so that he looses his grip and stumbles back a few steps.

Immediately Sherlock spins around and holds his hands up – half in defence, half in capitulation. John stares at him, panting. Most of his built up frustration and anger has subsided and is instantly replaced by the thought that this might be as close as he ever gets to hugging Sherlock Holmes.

The notion makes him chuckle and he sees Sherlock mustering him with confusion in his eyes. Of course he doesn't understand the absurdity of this situation. Now John actually shakes his head and laughs because he realises that he's behaving like a kid in primary school, fighting with the person he likes. Back then he pulled the girls' hair, now he nearly chokes the man. He's such a cliché it's ridiculous.

"What? What's so funny about you almost choking me to death?" Sherlock wants to know, his annoyance at missing something visible on his face.

"Oh please, don't flatter me. You're stronger than you look. There's now way I could've actually choked you." Sherlock's cheek is bleeding and he feels the sudden urge to go over there and wipe the blood away with his thumb and kiss it better. No, he's given into enough of his urges today already.

"You might've had a better shot if you had punched me with your strong hand." It's a dry and simple remark, but it makes his head jerk. Because Sherlock noticed and John can't help but wonder: does he _know_?


	34. Anticlimactic

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John and Sherlock find themselves having to share a dressing room. Prompt: Anticlimactic

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **This prompt came from Larilie and this chapter ties in with John's blog entry of 16th June 2011 'The Geek Interpreter'.

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><p>John Watson had served in the British Army, he was used to fighting in uniforms, nevertheless it felt quite strange to put on a ninja costume. Sherlock had pulled some strings and organised one of the smaller dressing rooms in the Queen's theatre for them to change into attire they needed to wrap up their latest case. Outside everything was buzzing with activity as the actors and the crew were getting ready for the night's performance.<p>

"I bet if we had taken the case of that international conspiracy we would be travelling in a private jet right now, eating crème brûlée, but no, you wanted the comic books coming true. Look at us, Sherlock! We're dressing up as bloody ninjas!" John huffed angrily as he pulled his jumper over his head.

"Just because you feel it's an anticlimactic case doesn't make it any less interesting", Sherlock replied while he unbuttoned his white cotton shirt.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't mind _not_ having to chase criminals down or looking at disfigured bodies, but this..." He waved into the general direction of their costumes that hung at the back of the door. "... is completely ridiculous." His shoes got kicked off his feet, closely followed by his trousers. When he turned around with his new outfit in his hand he stopped abruptly in his movements. Did he just catch Sherlock Holmes gaping at him while he was wearing nothing but his underwear?

He shook his head slightly. Some might call it wishful thinking. It was impossible and he knew it. But now, here he was thinking of sexual attractions, stealing glances at his friend. Sure, he had seen Sherlock parading around the flat half naked on more than one occasion, but that didn't mean he couldn't use this opportunity as well.

"Don't" was all that Sherlock said when he noticed John's eyes lingering on his exposed chest.

Damn it. That must've been too obvious. How was he going to explain this?

Before he could think of anything to say Sherlock continued: "I know what you're about to say. Don't." He reached past his friend to take his own ninja costume off its hanger. His naked shoulder grazing John's.

"What do you think I was about to say?" He stepped into his ninja suit, desperately hoping that his flatmate hadn't noticed the shiver that went through him when their bare skins touched.

"'Sherlock, you're too slim. Look at yourself, all skin and bones. You have to eat more.'" Sherlock actually did a pretty good imitation of him, complete with the poise of a military captain and a doctor's worried tone. It lasted all but ten seconds before he looked at his friend in annoyance. "I know how much I weigh, thank you very much. I happen to be content with the way I look, so don't bother."

John wanted to protest, but bit his tongue. Sherlock was slender, that much was true, except John knew about the many well trained muscles hidden underneath that delicate alabaster skin. It pained him to see how self-conscious his friend was about his lean figure, why else would he mistake John checking him out for a doctor's scrutiny? What was even worse was that there was nothing he could do to show Sherlock just exactly how attractive he found him.

He sighed. "Alright. Let's just dress up as ninjas and get this over with, okay?"


	35. Rainy

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John hurts Sherlock without even noticing it. Lestrade's POV. Prompt: Rainy

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **This is the daily prompt from oneword(dot)com. I have to admit I didn't find it all that inspiring so I decided to share one of the plot bunnies with you that has been running around my head ever since I re-watched _Scandal_. Also: This is the last chapter for this week, because I'm going on a spa weekend with my mum. I'll be back with new chapters on Monday.

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><p>It's one of those cases that is both, rather high-profile and pretty tricky, so I have no other choice than to call in Sherlock and John. Something seems to be off between the two, but I can't really put my finger on it.<p>

We're in the morgue and both of them lean over the body of Julia Stoner now, Sherlock with his ever present magnifier and John with his trained medical eye. That's when the bickering continues that I interrupted when I came to fetch them from Baker Street.

"Do people actually read your blog?", Sherlock asks.

I open my mouth to interfere, but close it again without saying a word. It's between the two of them, none of my business.

"Where do you think our clients come from?", is John's counter question, a hint of irritation in his voice. It's understandable, since he actually has quite a lot of readers by now, but I still shoot him an uneasy glance. I have an idea where this might be going and I don't like it.

"I have a website", Sherlock replies quickly and I can hear a bit of pride in his words, because he has put a lot of time and work into that thing. Oh, this is _so_ not going to end well.

"In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash." John's tone is matter of fact, tinted with the slightest trace of irony. I can tell that Sherlock hears it, too, because he looks up from the body, right at John who delivers the final blow with the precision of a sniper. "Nobody's reading your website."

Sherlock straightens immediately and just glares at John, he squints his eyes ever so slightly and swallows while he simultaneously pouts his lips almost unnoticeably. I've known him for more than five years and I can read his body language by now. I look at him, rub the space between my upper lip and my nose with the thumb of my left hand and take a step towards them. This is exactly where I didn't want this to go.

John hasn't noticed anything and rambles on: "Right then. Dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are." By the time he looks up Sherlock has already spun around and leaves the room.

I shoot John a look. Asking him whether that was really necessary, telling him to stay where he is, before I follow Sherlock outside.

"Go away, Lestrade." His strides are long, but I'm used to that so I catch up with him fairly quickly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock, and you know it." We take an emergency exit door to our left and go outside. It's a rainy July afternoon and we stand there, leaning on opposite walls of the exit. Sherlock turns his face towards the sky and welcomes the little water droplets on his skin. He's silent for a rather long time and when he turns his head to me again the rain on his face looks like tears. I know better, but it still makes me cringe a bit inside.

"How's the whole flatmate thing going for you?" I ask calmly, studying his face and posture.

Sherlock returns my gaze but only grimaces in reply. His hands are still shoved into his pockets, but even through the thick wool of his coat I can see that his fists are clenched.

Suddenly I have a hunch what might be going on between the two and it's so extremely simple. "Hard to get used to it, huh?"

He just nods and I know he doesn't want to admit to having difficulties adjusting to not being constantly alone anymore. That was the whole reason Mycroft and I pushed him into looking for a flat share, to stop him from becoming a complete hermit. He told everybody it was for the money, but I think even John has figured out by now that money has never been of concern to either of the Holmes brothers.

"You know that just because he's standing up to you doesn't mean he thinks any less of you, right?" Sometimes it's easier to understate things with Sherlock, because if you tell him the truth he will think you're exaggerating. People assume they're a couple all the time, but somehow Sherlock doesn't get that it's because of how obvious it is that John likes him, too. A lot.

"Yes, but he also thinks I'm annoying as hell." His eyes harden as he stares intently at the wall next to my head.

That's Sherlock Holmes for you in a nutshell, when it comes to himself he is one of the least observant people I know. It literally takes him years to get that - for some reason he doesn't understand – you like him. Which is why I'm not pointing out that most people he meets find him annoying. But he's trying his best for John and I know he's not one to do that for just anybody. I think I know what he's afraid of.

"True. But Sherlock," I pause until he looks at me again "he won't go anywhere. John needs you just as much as you need him."

His gaze falls to the ground and for just a second I see that young, vulnerable man again that I met half a decade ago. I'm not sure whether he believes my words or not, he opens his mouth to reply, but that's when the emergency door opens and John pops his head out. Seems like he's been looking for us for quite a bit.

"Donovan just called that she needs Sherlock to take a look at what she thinks might be another lead. She can't figure it out." He explains, the satisfaction of bringing Sally to admit that she needs Sherlock is written all over his face.

"Maybe next time I should introduce you as my secretary instead of my colleague? Then you could handle all the stupid people." Sherlock's voice is snide and his body language is back to normal. Usually I'd scowl at him for such a remark, but seeing the expression of injured pride on John's face I decide against it. He deserved that one for hurting Sherlock.


	36. Dialect

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John uses the cab ride on their way home to find out more about Sherlock. Prompt: Dialect

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **First of all I'd like to thank all of you for the load of reviews and adds I got for the last chapter, sorry I couldn't reply to all of them. I should go on spa weekends more often if this is what I get for it. No, I'm kidding. There's another chapter coming up later today, so you may look forward to that. Meanwhile this is my reply to a prompt from CowMow. Hope you like how it turned out. Please note: This chapter marks the 20,000th word of this story (without the headers).

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><p>They were on their way back home after solving one of the cases that they had got because of the blog. John never ceased to be amazed by Sherlock's vast amount of hidden talents. Today it had been his command of the French language that had made solving the case that much easier.<p>

Somehow it just didn't leave John alone. So he asked: "How many languages do you speak?"

Sherlock didn't even turn his head when he replied. "That depends on how you define 'speak'."

That was yet another thing that had changed since the consulting detective had become a part of his life. John was constantly evaluating definitions. "Okay, how many languages can you order a cup of tea in?"

"Sixty three." Of course Sherlock knew the exact number without having to think for as much as a second.

It was a ridiculously high number so John decided to narrow it down a bit."In how many languages can you chat?"

"That depends again." One corner of Sherlock's mouth smirked. He seemed to like these little interviews.

John, however, wasn't particularly keen on guessing. "On what this time?"

His friend finally turned his entire body around, so that he was slightly leaning towards him. "Well, I can converse like Anderson in twenty languages, like you in eight and like myself in five."

The hidden compliment did not go unnoticed and John smiled with a bit of pride. Now he was curious again. "Okay. So what are the languages that you'd be able to speak at my level?"

"French, Portuguese, Spanish, German, Mandarin, of course English and Russian" Sherlock hesitated for a bit before he added "if I talk to the right person."

John frowned in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"I was never formally taught Russian, I learned it from my violin teacher. But he was from Kursk and therefore spoke a very thick southern dialect and that's what I learned. I can read everything, but not all of them understand what I'm talking about."

"So your Russian is somewhat similar to your English. Good to know." John stated in a dry tone and grinned at his friend.

"I think that is a correct observation." Sherlock replied and returned the smile.


	37. Attendant

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** When Sherlock is admitted to the hospital John has to lie to get in. Prompt: Attendant

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **I'm sorry I didn't get back to you guys last night, somehow my muse left me after I began writing up another chapter. So I stored away that idea for a better time and decided to fill today's prompt from oneword(dot)com instead.

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><p>"Sir, you can't stay with him. I'm sorry." The nurse says as she blocks his way when they wheel Sherlock into a room.<p>

"I'm his friend. His brother is out of town and he's got no other family", John doesn't even know whether it's true. He knows about their mother but she's surely not going to magically appear now. He has to find a way to stay with his best friend.

"It's alright, he's my medical attendant", Sherlock croaks from the stretcher on which he's lying.

The nurse takes a closer look at John. "I'm a doctor and I take care of his… special needs. He's got Asperger's and gets into a lot of fights because of his poor social skills. Rich kid, family thought it would be easier if there's someone with a medical background with him at all times." He offers quickly, the lies rolling off his tongue.

"Then why are you almost as beaten up as he is?" The nurse's tone is sceptical.

"The blokes that beat him up didn't exactly like the thought of him being patched up straight away so they kept me busy for a bit as well." Half-truths were always easier to tell than complete lies and he seems to be rather convincing as the nurse lets him inside the room.

When they are left alone John pulls the only chair in the room up to the side of the bed and lets out an audible sigh of relief.

"So, you think I am a rich kid with Asperger's?" Sherlock stares at him, but it's hard to take him seriously with one eye almost swollen shut and several little band-aids decorating his cheeks and jaw. He looks like a cartoon character whose evil plan horribly backfired.

"Well, it's a very believable lie to anybody who looks at you and hears you talk for the first time." He pauses for a second, knowing that he shouldn't argue with Sherlock Holmes about the exact terms for his personality. "It got me in, didn't it?"

"Fine. I surrender to your petty logic." Sherlock pouts his lips and continues more quietly. "The important thing is that you're here now."

John feels a little tug in his chest at the softly spoken words. He tries to keep his voice calm as he asks: "Really, why's that?"

"Because you have to text our clients for me. I figured out who took the signet ring."


	38. Flip

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock reveals yet another curious fact about his past to John while he's wearing nothing but a towel. Prompt: Flip

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **Well, what can I say, I wrote this chapter just because it was fun to watch the scene in my head. I'm sorry if you're getting sick of self-conscious!Sherlock. FYI: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>It's Saturday morning when Sherlock wakes up again. He remembers going to bed just before midnight on Thursday and he can even recall waking up a few times and deciding to go back to sleep. Now the first thing he does is trot into the bathroom and take a long and blissful shower because the worst thing about sleeping for more than twelve hours is the dirty feeling on his skin afterwards.<p>

John is sitting in his armchair, flipping through the paper as Sherlock emerges into the kitchen. His stomach is growling so loud that even his flatmate can hear it and turns around to undoubtedly mock him about it but suddenly John seems to be at a loss for words. All he does is stare at him.

"I know we're both guys, but could you at least wear more than a towel around your waist if you want to have breakfast?" His friend says after he quickly turns back to his newspaper.

"Why do I need to be dressed to eat?" Sherlock inquires when he sits down in his own armchair, eating a slice of toast with jam on it.

"It's not because of the eating. It's because Mrs Hudson or Lestrade might walk in here and you'd be standing in front of them practically naked." John doesn't look up from his paper as he explains it to him.

"They've both seen me naked before, so I doubt they'd care all that much." Sherlock takes another bite off his toast, crumbs falling into his lap.

"What?" John jerks his head away from the paper, staring at him incredulously. "They– what?"

"I thought you'd be able to read and listen at the same time, John. I've seen you do it." Sherlock frowns a little. "They've both seen me naked before. But don't worry, it was before you moved in and under rather... unconventional circumstances so you don't have to worry about them seeing you naked."

John goes on to stare at him, baffled by his revelation. To be quite honest, Sherlock doesn't get what the big deal is. It's Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. In his mind they are about as asexual as he is to the rest of the world.

For just a moment he imagines what it would be like if things were different, if his mind didn't make him neuter to everyone he spoke to for more than two minutes. He allows himself to picture what it would be like if John took more than a medical interest in his body. The thought of his friend kissing his shoulder gives him goose bumps. He remembers the time John and he had shared a bed because he had destroyed his own, how good John's warmth had felt so close to him.

Sherlock vehemently shakes his head, getting rid of all the pictures and feelings that are cluttering up his mind. It's no use. He learned a long time ago that people didn't look at him that way – at least not for long. And that's okay, fine by him, because attraction leads to sentiment and that is too great a risk to take for a fleeting infatuation based on nothing more than pheromones.


	39. Hood

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** At yet another crime scene Sherlock walks John through his deduction process. Prompt: Hood

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, the setting was wished for by the lovely lemondrops97 and I just wanted to write some more Johnlock.

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><p>"Why did the smoke detector go off?" Sherlock asked John as he paced through the room, not looking at him. Lately he had gone back to taking his friend through his whole process, going so far as to try to make him come to his conclusions by himself. It made John feel like the sorcerer's apprentice.<p>

"Because there was a whole lot of smoke in here." That answer was simple enough. Where Sherlock's deduction skills were like a long jump John followed with baby steps.

"Why?" It felt like his friend was throwing him breadcrumbs and he just had to follow the trail.

"Because the chef let the food burn that he was preparing for his best friend and himself because he was dying on the floor and had other things to do than taking care of his after-work steaks."Although he knew that the consulting detective was only trying to be patient with him John found the slow pace annoying sometimes. Sherlock must've rubbed off on him. Okay, _that _ was not a safe train of thought.

"No! You're missing it." Sherlock spun around and looked at him with those wonderful colour changing eyes. "Look, John. Observe! What do you see?"

John did as he was told, using the chance to turn his back on Sherlock and getting his act together again, focusing on the crime scene that lay before him. He took in the tiled floor, the appliances made out of stainless steel, the copper pans and pots standing on shelves. "I see a professional kitchen, because we are in a restaurant."

"Yes. Go on." His friend waved his hand in a circular fashion in front of his body as he approached him. It looked like he was trying to crank John's brain.

As ridiculous as it looked it seemed to work, since slowly a realisation dawned on him. "It's a rather nice restaurant, isn't it? So they wouldn't want the guests to smell anything. That's why they have a gigantic kitchen hood!"

"Finally! You're with me." Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders, grinning and nodding enthusiastically. "Don't stop now."

He couldn't feel much besides the pressure of the gloved hands on his shoulders. It felt so good to make Sherlock look at him that way, so he smiled back when he knew he found the right question. Because that was all Sherlock asked of him, to raise the right questions. He would give him the answer. "So why was there so much smoke when they have an appliance especially to get rid of fumes, steam and smoke?"

"It took you long enough, but yes, exactly." Sherlock's hands squeezed John's shoulders before he turned around. "That's the correct question and the answer is very simple: the kitchen hood was turned off. The maître d' didn't realise it because he was shocked to find his best friend lying in a pool of his own blood."

Sherlock took out his multi tool and pulled out the screwdriver as he sat himself on the stove to get a better angle. "Can you see these screws? Usually kitchen hood screws are all greased up because they only get cleaned when you open the lid to change the filter. As you might've noticed this filter is actually in dire need of a change but the screws must have been recently undone, because they're perfectly clean. It's most likely that the murderer turned the hood off, unscrewed the lid and hid something in it that he could not take out with him. It's most likely the murder weapon which should lead us to the killer."

Sherlock unscrewed the lid with his Leatherman and John helped him take it down. Sure enough: There was a knife with a eight inch blade hidden on top of the filter.

John looked up and found his friend smiling with a mixture of excitement and pride, like a child that found its mother's chocolate stash in under a minute. It was adorable.


	40. Foolish

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Everyone knows Sherlock Holmes thinks that caring is a disadvantage. But where did he get that from? Prompt: Foolish

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** As this is the fortieth chapter of this story I thought I'd give you yet another glimpse in my pre-series head canon. The prompt for this chapter came from DarkFoxxx. The quote on which the Einstein reference is based is this: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

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><p>"Go away!" Sherlock shouted at the door. He had returned from uni for the holidays, but his heart was just as broken as the term at uni. As soon as he was done saying his hellos to his mother and their staff he had gone up to his bedroom. He lay on his bed, comforting himself with silent tears.<p>

"Don't be childish, Sherlock." Mycroft said from just outside his locked door. His brother had followed him, doubtlessly sent by their mother.

"I want to be alone." His voice was unsteady as he yelled at the slowly opening door. That damn bastard had picked his lock again!

Mycroft slowly entered the room and closed the door behind him. He spoke in a soft, slightly patronizing voice. "There will be plenty of times in your life when you will be left completely alone. But right now I want to talk to you."

"Go. Away. I mean it." Sherlock hurled a pillow at his older brother as he stepped closer to his bed.

His target caught the soft projectile in mid-flight. "You're hurt." The tone was matter-of-fact.

"Well observed. Now leave me alone." The younger brother huffed and turned his back.

"Stop it." His tone was snide now as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "I know how you feel and I know how you can make it better."

Sherlock snorted sarcastically. "You've got no idea. I lost…"

"I know what you lost and that's exactly my point." Mycroft interrupted him before he could finish. "You lost it because you allowed yourself to love. You've been foolish. Showing sentiment is not a sign of strength, that's just what weak people like to think. It makes you vulnerable and thus powerless, it opens you up to feeling like this for the better part of your life. Love is what ordinary people believe to give meaning to their lives, but we need more, caring only holds us back."

He looked at his brother who was ten years older than him. Mycroft was more experienced, but he had always kept to himself. Obviously his brother's experiences hadn't been good and neither were his. Maybe Mycroft was right. He sat up against the headboard of his bed.

"How many times did you try?", his older brother asked him when he didn't respond.

"Twice now." He wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

Mycroft nodded."That's still acceptable."

Sherlock tilted his head, studying his brother's well controlled face. "Are you thinking of Einstein?"

"Yes and I think you should, too." Mycroft's expression was serious.

They sat opposite each other on Sherlock's bed, looking each other in the eye, talking about matters of the heart. It was the closest they'd been in over a decade, ever since Mycroft had moved out of their home.

"I think you're right." Sherlock conceded. He didn't want to lose his rationality. Over the course of the last few years it had become the thing he liked best about himself.

"I'm glad we agree." Mycroft stood up, straightened his trousers and walked towards the door. "Now wash up and come downstairs, Frieda's made her special marble cake just for you."


	41. Wilful

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John confronts Sherlock about the scene in Sebastian Wilkes' office. Prompt: Wilful

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>Sherlock despised himself for allowing that part of his past to get the better of him. It had only been a second but nevertheless it counted. He had slipped. Why could a single remark by Sebastian Wilkes still wind him up so much? Of course he knew that Sebastian was trying to hurt him – just like old times. However, hat he had succeeded in doing so – yet again – was unacceptable.<p>

It was all the more demeaning because John saw it. He didn't mention it straight afterwards but Sherlock knew that his failure to keep his composure had been noticed by his best friend.

The afternoon after they had solved the case John had typed up the case for his blog, it was a horrible read but it brought in a new client. Well, at first he didn't want to take the case because it didn't sound particularly interesting but then John had pointed out that it would give him a chance to go to Belarus. That same evening his friend brought him the tickets he had bought online for his flight to Minsk the following morning.

Sherlock lay on the couch and held out his hand but John kept the tickets just out of his reach.

"What was that whole business with Sebastian Wilkes about?", John asked.

"He's an old friend of mine from uni, just like you wrote in your blog." It had been hard not to point out how far from the truth that bit of information had been, but he thought it was best that John knew as little as possible about that time of his life. He had changed.

"First of all I've been told that before me you never really had many friends and secondly, friends don't wilfully try to hurt each other." John scowled.

Sherlock turned his head to look John straight in the eye, it made a lie that much more believable if you delivered it straight on. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I saw how his words hurt you. Don't deny it." John's voice was calm, apparently his face had betrayed him even more in Sebastian's office than he had cared to admit to himself.

Sherlock didn't reply but just glared at John. Losing control and letting people see he was hurt was bad enough, but being confronted about it was even worse.

"Look, I'm not going to interrogate you. I just wanted to let you know that I don't hate you, even though you can be a daft bugger sometimes. I'll never hate you for that brilliant mind of yours and there are quite a few people out there who agree with me." With that John handed him the tickets and shrugged as Sherlock just looked at him, a hint of confusion written on his face. "Actually I think you already knew that. Just wanted to remind you."

His friend left him lying on the couch and went into the kitchen to order dinner for both of them. Sherlock had to admit that it felt quite good not to be hated, especially by a man like John Watson.


	42. Slartibartfast

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** A couple of days after his fall Sherlock decides to read one of Molly's books. Post-Reichenbach. Prompt: Slartibartfast

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** For all of you who hadn't noticed, this is a very special chapter because it's number 42. Yes, I'm very sorry, but this is going to be a 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'-related chapter. The prompt for this chapter came from the lovely Larilie, because we both love the books. It's probably my most challenging prompt up to now (I even found 'staple' easier than this!), so if you happen to really hate it, please bear with me ;)

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><p>Sherlock needed to keep himself busy in Molly's flat for two more days to get things sorted out, to find a place to start his hunt, because he was going to untangle Moriarty's web. Molly had gone out to buy hair dye and a few more groceries. Dying had made him hungry. When she came back he had just taken a book out of one of her shelves. It was one of five in a series. He had heard John talking about it.<p>

"I don't think that's the book you want to read." Molly said as she came over to see what he had picked out.

"But you said I could read any book you had. I know John and Mike read it, because they keep referencing it when I'm around, it's like a code that I don't get. I never found the time to read it before but I heard it's supposed to be brilliant." Immediately after he said the words it hit him that he wouldn't hear anymore references to the book anytime soon, but he pushed that thought away.

"John read it, really?" Molly seemed rather surprised by that. "But still, believe me, it's really not your cup of tea, Sherlock." She tried to take the book away from him, probably worried what he might do to it if he didn't like it, but he hung on to it.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked as his long fingers gripped the slim book harder.

Molly sighed. "Because although it's really logical it's also rather silly and it elaborates all the time in a very strange way and I don't think you'd like the characters."

"So it's like real life?" It wasn't a joke, just an observation.

"In a way, yes." Molly let go of the book, knowing that she wouldn't be able to let it go. Instead she started to pack away the groceries and afterwards she took Sherlock to the bathroom with her to give him a make-over.

Sherlock didn't say a word during the whole process because his eyes were glued to the pages of the book he had picked from her collection. After she was done cutting and dyeing his hair Sherlock had already read the first hundred pages.

"Why did you think I wouldn't like the characters?" He asked while she wiped the last droplets of the red hair dye from the sink. He was not yet sure whether he liked the book and its quirky descriptions of nearly everything, but he was already rather fond of that Arthur character.

"Well, there's one coming up, he's quite representative of that bunch and I always found him fascinating, maybe because I wanted to have his job. His name is Slartibartfast and he's quite the opposite of you." Molly put some hair wax in her palms and started to style his hair.

Sherlock frowned at her in the mirror. "In what way?"

Molly smiled at the result of her make-over, obviously pleased with herself. "To quote him: He'd much rather be happy than right any day. I think that's as far from you as possible."

"Everybody likes to be right, Molly, but only few people ever achieve happiness. Luckily I'm the kind of person who is happy when he's right." Sherlock pointed out to her.

"See, I told you it wouldn't be your thing." She held out her hand for him to give the book back.

"If you don't mind I'd like to keep on reading anyways. I have nothing better to do until my funeral." It was true, he really needed something to distract him from being so incredible bored at the moment. What he didn't even admit it to himself was that he enjoyed figuring out John's code, because it almost felt like he could still talk to his best friend. Decoding past references was easier for Sherlock than thinking about what he had lost and whether he would ever be able to get it back.


	43. Branches

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** On their way back home from a case John teases Sherlock about his extracurricular education. Prompt: Branches

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Sorry if I'm going a bit Moffat on you guys with this chapter, I'm still hoping you'll enjoy it anyways. FYI: The prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>"So, you actually know how to ride a real life horse." John was interviewing him again while they were on the train back from one of their cases that they got through the blog. Sometimes he quite enjoyed getting out of the city.<p>

"Yes, why is that such a hard concept for you to grasp?" He asked, really not understanding how John was still amazed by the range of his education.

His friend just shrugged. "I don't know actually. Your mother did make you learn how to play the violin after all."

Sometimes he quite enjoyed John taking an interest in his life, but this did not seem to turn out to be one of those times. "I _wanted _to learn how to play the violin."

"Right. Did you also have ballet lessons?" The friendly mockery in John's voice came out with a chuckle.

Sherlock only pouted at that, knowing that John probably already tried imagining him in tights.

"Please tell me you didn't have ballet lessons because otherwise I'd have to beg Mycroft to show me pictures of your recitals." By now John was actually giggling at the mental image.

"I can assure you that my education did not include ballet. I've always been too tall for that." His tone was snide.

"Yeah, right, because you hatched from an egg in all of your six feet tall glory." John was witty and he usually quite liked that about him but on occasions like this it could be irritating.

Which was why he decided to use his special voice that was normally reserved for Anderson now. "Six feet and half an inch. Let's be accurate."

John seemed to get the hint and turned the conversation back to its starting point. "So, why have I never seen you horseback riding?"

Sherlock snorted. "Because we live in London and not the wild west."

"No, seriously, from what I've just heard you spent quite a lot of time on a horse back in the day. What changed?" John sat up and looked like he was really trying to be earnest.

"Some branches got in the way." Sherlock's tone was quiet and he turned his head as he thought back to the last time that riding was any fun.

"You mean you fell?" John couldn't hold back a grin. "Have you never heard of the phrase 'get back in the saddle'?"

The expression on Sherlock's face hardened almost unnoticeably. "They weren't in my way. My horse tried to jump a few branches that lay in our path in the forest, but she slipped on wet leaves and didn't make a clean jump, she fell and broke her leg. It was a comminuted fracture so we had to put her down. I borrowed Mycroft's horse a few times after that but it just wasn't the same."

John was quiet for a few moments, studying Sherlock who looked out the window, watching the countryside pass them by. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"It was just a horse, John." His tone was cold but he still remembered her white mane wafting in the wind when they galloped towards a jump. She had helped him escape a life full of constraints, had given him his first adrenaline high and had provided a shoulder to lean on when his heart had been broken the first time. No, he would never forget his Tosca.


	44. Heartache

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock needs to think about their latest case and does so while playing the violin. John watches him. Prompt: Heartache

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Well, I'm not sure whether you noticed, but I've been absent for a bit. Yesterday I had a really important exam at uni (molecular biology is not my friend) and therefore I took Monday and Tuesday off Sherlock. It was necessary because he took up way too much of my study time. I apologize if any of you were disappointed by the absence of daily updates. I wanted to do this chapter for a long time, because I'm a violinist myself (and while appreciate Ben's effort I cannot say that I'm impressed with his performance in that regard, sorry if I'm offending any of you with this comment). FYI: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>It was raining outside and their latest case was somehow a little trickier than Sherlock had imagined and somehow his brained seemed to be on strike because he just couldn't seem to be able to figure it out. He took up his violin from the windowsill and began playing Shostakovich's waltz number two from the <em>Suite for Variety Orchestra<em>.

He had known the piece for more than twenty years and played it with ease as his muscle memory came flooding back after the first bar. John was watching him, he noticed it, but to John it wouldn't sound half as good as it did in his mind, because John didn't know the piece. He couldn't hear the symphonic orchestra that was accompanying him in his head.

His movements became wider as the melody intensified. His shoulder turned into one direction as his arm fled into the other. He felt his wrist loosening up and his fingers relaxing into an emphasizing vibrato. He played away Anderson's annoying presence from the crime scene as he scrutinized it another time in his mind, he revisited the interviews he had conducted with John drowning out the unnecessary details with the music, re-examined the flat of the victim. What had he missed? There was something. His entire hand glided up the neck of the violin to play the next three notes in the third position before sliding back into the second and finally the first again.

Sliding. There had been a oil stains on the night stand in the victim's bedroom.. On the side where he didn't sleep there had been an imprint of a bottle, maybe massage oil. Why had he not noticed before?

There were only ten more bars left and he finished the piece with a sense of satisfaction. He put down his violin on the armchair and went to get his coat, not looking into John's direction because his flatmate didn't need to know that he knew about his audience. Only when he put on his coat he glanced at John, telling him without words that he had a lead for the. His friend had already got up and was about to follow him out the door.

oOoOo

John was sitting on the couch, his laptop on his knees. He was researching a few ideas he had had in connection to their latest case, when Sherlock picked up his violin and started playing a melody he didn't recognize

It was a waltz, he could tell that much. He stopped reading what was on the screen in front of him and listened to Sherlock playing. By the little pauses he made John could tell that it must have been composed for an orchestra as opposed to a single violin. Nevertheless Sherlock played it wonderfully. John heard longing between the notes, it sounded almost like heartache. He never told his flatmate, but he actually rather appreciated the little impromptu concerts that he gave occasionally – at least when they took place at a half decent time of day.

He knew that when he played the violin Sherlock tended to drown in his thoughts, not taking much notice of what happened around him. So John took the opportunity to watch his best friend eliciting the most beautiful sounds from the instrument perched between his shoulder and chin.

The small frog of the bow made his finger appear even longer. It was almost hypnotising how Sherlock seemed to have only a soft grip on the bow but still moved it with such precision and grace. It looked as if the bow was moving on its own and Sherlock's fingers were only loosely draped on the end of it.

That stood in stark contrast to his other hand moving up and down on the ebony fingerboard. His long fingers slid into various places, sometimes they moved so quickly that it was hard for John to see how they pressed down on one of the strings before they quickly moved on. John loved the vibratos, the first time he had seen it he thought it looked as if Sherlock's fingers were tickling the neck of the violin, making her giggle.

He liked watching Sherlock play the slow pieces, because he somehow let himself indulge more in them than in the faster ones. Fast mostly meant hard, short bow strokes and a rather concentrated almost tense body language on Sherlock's part. The slow pieces gave him long strokes, using all of the bow's length, his body moving with the melody, those incredible hands shaking in vibratos and a much more relaxed expression on his face, as if Sherlock didn't need to think about what he was playing at all.

Just as John thought so Sherlock played the final note, lay his violin on his armchair, strode across the room and took his coat off the hanger on the back of the sitting room door. John shut his laptop, put it down on the sofa next to him and got up. One look to Sherlock confirmed his suspicion, it seemed the violin had worked its magic yet again.


	45. Puddle

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** Greg comes home after a long day at the Yard only to discover there's somebody in his flat waiting for him. Prompt: Puddle

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>London's weather was not his friend today. It had been one of the rare occasions on which he had decided to take his bike rather than the tube or a cab to work. But London just wasn't a motorcycle's natural habitat and he knew it better than anyone. The day had seemed to turn out nice enough when he drove into work this morning, but shortly after noon it had started to rain and the water kept pouring from the sky until he had left the Yard.<p>

The street in which he lived wasn't very well maintained. It was basically one big pothole and after a day like this it was just one gigantic, cloudy puddle. Great, now he would spend his night cleaning his motorcycle and his leather gear. Just as he pulled into the backyard of his street he noticed the black limousine waiting opposite his house. His eyes shot up and sure enough, the light in his sitting room was on. Cleaning would have to wait after all.

When he entered his flat a few minutes later he wasn't surprised to see Mycroft Holmes sitting in the only armchair he owned, talking on his mobile in what sounded like Arabic. As soon as his visitor saw him he wrapped up his conversation and stood up.

"I wanted to thank you for your latest assistance with my brother, Detective Inspector." Mycroft shook his hand in a very businesslike manner.

"Don't mention it. I still need him after all." Greg said as he took off his dirty leather jacket. "Can I offer you some tea?" He asked after he had kicked off his boots.

"I hope you don't mind, I already prepared everything." Mycroft walked with him to the kitchen and poured them both a cup.

It was a weird relationship that they had. He had known Mycroft as long as he knew Sherlock. The visits, however, had only started after his wife had thrown him out and he got his own place just a few weeks ago. They never talked much and weren't on a first name basis – at least not out loud – but he knew that Mycroft probably had every piece of information there was on him and somehow it didn't bother him.

To be honest he found the aura of power that surrounded the other man rather attractive. That made their association even stranger sometimes. In theory all they had in common was Sherlock, but somehow their conversations had stopped being only about the other man's younger brother quite a few years back. Mycroft Holmes just wasn't like any other person he knew. He had no idea where it came from but somehow he felt at ease with him, despite the fact that they never talked much, certainly not about work or their personal lives.

Greg was sure that the other man knew about his separation even before he had taken the ring off his finger. He himself didn't even know who Mycroft was married to, he had noticed the ring but never asked about it. He liked to think it was because he respected his privacy, but of course he knew his real reasons deep down.

Tonight Greg saw it as the other man handed him his teacup. The golden band was nowhere to be found on Mycroft's finger anymore and immediately he wondered if he dared to read something into that.


	46. Bitten NSFW

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** John's out and Sherlock decides to go through his laptop. **Smut**. Prompt: Bitten

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Okay, I'm aware that I might loose some oft you because of this chapter, but that's just the way it is. There won't be much smut in this story but this piece just somehow wiggled its way in. Let me assure you that the smutty chapters will always be marked as those. The prompt came from oneword(dot)com. ***UPDATE*** after some well deserved criticism for this chapter I edited it. I like it better now, hope you do, too.

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><p>John was at the surgery when Sherlock woke up from his post-case ten hours of sleep. It was mid-morning and Mrs Hudson had brought up some scones with a note that she would be out visiting her sister for a few days. She was asking John to look after her plants and feed Sherlock.<p>

He ate the scones with some of the blackcurrant jam that John had bought yesterday and decided to busy himself with John's laptop. It took him less than two minutes to figure out the new password. Somehow he didn't feel like looking through the browser history today, so he decided to look for any new files on the hard drive instead. It had been a couple of weeks since he last had time to investigate John's computer so there was plenty of new data for him to go through. It was mostly the usual: new e-mail attachments, pictures of his friends in Afghanistan, research on their last few cases, some fan mail that he saved to his computer, new music and new videos.

Sherlock knew John's filing system so he recognised what he found right away. John had joined an American porn site and apparently made the best from his limited membership time. He had downloaded more than two dozen videos in the last week. Since they didn't have very descriptive file names Sherlock chose one at random.

It showed two men and a woman, all of them seemed to be in their early twenties and were very attractive. At first the two men only caressed and kissed the woman while they undressed her and themselves, Sherlock found that part rather dull and foreseeable. But then they kissed each other over her head while she performed oral sex on one of them and that certainly was a pleasant twist.

It wasn't the first time that he looked at John's pornography, it also wasn't the first piece of gay pornography he had ever found on his flatmate's laptop, but this video was somehow different. There was no bad acting involved, it was simply three young people who obviously enjoyed sex. They were talking in between kisses, laughing and genuinely having fun arousing each other.

Of course watching this video made it hard for him to will away his morning glory. But then again, his flatmate and his landlady were out, so why bother? Sherlock's hand slid underneath his pyjama bottoms and lazily mimicked what he saw on-screen. He didn't masturbate nearly as often as John, but sometimes it was just easier to make use of an erection than to will it away and occasionally it helped him to clear his mind.

His undivided attention was focused on the laptop screen now. The brown haired man was very vocal and Sherlock had to admit he liked it. For a second he speculated whether he would be vocal if he ever had coitus, but then his mind wandered to John and he couldn't help but wonder if talking played a part in his best friend's sex life.

The other man in the video had blond hair and he seemed to be the top of the two. Sherlock knew very well what to expect, he might not have first-hand knowledge of these things, but his research was not limited to John's personal pornography library.

Soon enough the two well built men seemed to be bitten with enthusiasm, the blond one was fucking the brunette relentlessly and they both seemed to be enjoying it very much. The bottom of the two was smiling, moaning and massaging his own prick. They changed positions after the top had brought his partner – and Sherlock - to almost orgasm prematurely.

Sherlock readjusted his position on the sofa, the laptop resting on his chest now, his legs slightly spread and his hand around his own throbbing erection. His hand was cool because his circulation wasn't the best after hardly eating for five days. The fresh sensation on the sensitive head of his cock made him moan.

If it didn't cause another unnecessary row he would compliment John on his newest findings. Because the two fellows who had now gone back to the missionary position were the hottest thing he had ever found on John's laptop. The woman who had initially been part of the fun seemed to agree with him, since now she stuck to the background and masturbated while she observed the two men having sex.

Sherlock matched his technique with the one that he saw in the video, quickening and intensifying his strokes, reaching his own very audible climax at the same time as the young man on the bottom did. He enjoyed the exceptionally long wave of lust flooding through him as he listened with closed eyes to the moaning that came from the laptop's speakers.

After they had both reached orgasm the brunette knocked over his top and the two young men kissed. First there was clear passion written all over their features, then they caressed each others' cheeks and kissed again, this time it was a lingering, almost loving gesture. The bottom laughed and told the other two how much fun he had had. He kissed his partner again as if to thank him.

All that Sherlock could think was that nobody would ever touch him like that or look at him with such adoration. For the first time in a long while he couldn't simply brush the painful notion aside.


	47. Rattle

**Title:** Making the Connection

**Story Summary: **A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

**Chapter Summary:** It's been a week since Sherlock died and Mrs Hudson is thinking about him. Prompt: Rattle

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>Shocked didn't even begin to describe how she felt. She was distressed, panicked, rattled and numb. She had been for a week now and she only slowly came to terms with what had happened to one of her boys.<p>

Nobody could ever convince her that the lies in the newspapers were true. She had seen Sherlock work, knew first hand what he was capable of. Yes, he had loved it when other people acknowledged his intellect, showing off had been his dearest pleasure in life but that didn't make him a bad man. It made him human.

There were countless times that she was close to ripping his head off – if only she could've reached it. He had the unique talent of driving everybody around him completely crazy. Yet here she was, missing Sherlock Holmes.

John had taken her through the events of the days that led up to Sherlock jumping off St. Bartholomew's , had told her what he had said on the phone. Still it didn't make sense to either of them. Why would a man like Sherlock take his own life?

Of course she was aware that John was off even worse than she was. He still hadn't come back to Baker Street, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he'd return. She felt deeply sorry for him, losing your best friend was hard enough, but losing him without ever expressing what you truly wanted to say was even worse.

In her opinion the hardest thing was to bear in mind that life went on. Your grief didn't stop the world from turning and at some point you had to tell yourself to get your act together and move on. She had done it several times in her life already, she could do it and she knew that much. But even though John was a soldier and had experienced more than his fair share of loss she wasn't sure if he could find the strength to do it once more.


	48. Entice

**Chapter Summary:** When Mycroft is not wearing his ring again Greg just can't help asking him about it. Prompt: Entice

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** I know I haven't been updating regularly the past week, but now my life's back to normal and so should be my schedule. Although this prompt came from oneword(dot)com I'd like to remind you all that** you're welcome to prompt me yourself in a review or PM**.

Yes, he had dated other men before he married his wife, but Mycroft Holmes was a completely different story. Nothing about him was the least bit conventional, not the way he had entered his life, not the way he kept in touch and certainly not his personality. The one thing he knew for sure was that Mycroft was unique in every way and he had to admit that he found it quite enticing.

Nevertheless it took him some time to realize he was actually interested in a Holmes. It took even more time to stop denying it.

There was more than one reason that spoke against this: his recently failed marriage, Mycroft being as approachable as the Queen herself, the fact that hardly anyone who was part of his life at present knew that he liked men as well, hell, he didn't even know for sure that Mycroft liked men. It was all really complicated but he just couldn't get Mycroft out of his mind at times. Somehow that man had wiggled his way into his life.

So the next time that he visited his flat with take out in his hand Greg invited him in and offered him a glass of red wine. There was no pressing reason for Mycroft to be here and they both knew it. It just seemed to have become a habit. Non-urgent matters that could be discussed over the phone were pushed back until after both of them were off work and then they'd enjoy dinner together at Greg's flat.

"You haven't been wearing your ring the last three times that you've been here." It was a statement.

"Indeed." Mycroft affirmed and took another fork of salad as though this was their normal dinner conversation.

"But when you came to 'give me a lift' from the crime scene to the Yard the other day you wore it." Another statement. He was going about this as logically as possible, because over the years it had turned out to be the safest way to handle a Holmes.

"Very well observed, Detective Inspector." The other man nodded in approval but his tone was neutral, with absolutely no clue in it as to how he felt about his line of reasoning.

Greg had to admit he was more than just a bit nervous, but there was no way back now. He had to get this out of his system - one way or the other. "So the question is: do you take it off when you're done working for the day or just when you come to see me in private?"

"I'm never done working", was all Mycroft replied.

The realisation that dawned on Greg washed away his nervousness and he just couldn't stop a smile from spreading on his face. "Then I think it's about time you call me Greg."

Mycroft returned the smile with something that almost resembled shyness and all Greg thought was how much he enjoyed the sight of it.


	49. Desk

**Chapter Summary:** John finds out just how fast anger can vanish into thin air. Prompt: Desk

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** After some schedule problems I suffered a severe case of writer's block all week. I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this prompt but somehow it just wouldn't come out. I'm sorry you had to wait so long, I hope this chapter makes up for it. Although this prompt came from oneword(dot)com I'd like to remind you all that** you're welcome to prompt me yourself in a review or PM**.

**A/N2:** I've been told that the key combination that John uses on his laptop is wrong, since he supposedly has a **Mac, not a PC**. Well, in season 1 both Sherlock and John had PCs and in season 2 it is Sherlock who has a Mac, John only borrows it (as seems to be the habit in 221B). At least that's what my favourite prop-research site Sherlockolgy said - and I'm going to stick with that.

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><p>They had been living together for over a year now and it had never happened before. Why should it? There were two tables in the kitchen and they were both comfortable writing with their laptops perched on their laps while they sat in their armchairs or on the sofa.<p>

John had worked at the desk for a couple of hours now when Sherlock sat himself down opposite of him. His legs had fallen asleep a few minutes back but he still felt how the space underneath the little desk got crowded.

"Why do you need to sit here now?", he asked his flatmate with irritation in his voice.

"The kitchen still needs to air after my experiment, the couch is currently occupied and I don't want to sit in an armchair right now. That leaves the desk." Sherlock replied dryly.

"You could remove those books from the couch or sit in my armchair if yours isn't to your liking." John countered, getting more irritated by the second.

"Yours is not ergonomically fit to a man of my height." His flatmate shot Sherlock an angry look. He knew exactly how much he hated it when Sherlock used the height difference in an argument. "But you could sit in it if you don't want to share the desk."

John tried to wiggle his toes – in vain. "That's not an option right now", he grumbled.

"Your legs have fallen asleep." Sherlock deduced.

"Yes. So if you don't mind..." he gestured towards the armchairs.

"No." And that was that.

John sighed in frustration. Sometimes his flatmate was just unbearable. But he knew by now that he had to pick his battles carefully, so he didn't say anything else. Instead he just opened a new tab in his browser and started writing a new blog post about living with England's most inconsiderate man.

After fifteen minutes of typing he noticed that he slowly regained the feeling in his legs. When he was still a child John had found out that if you brought your leg in a better position to enable unhindered circulation again and kept it really still then it would wake up without the sensation of pins and needles. He hated that feeling which was why he tried to keep his legs as motionless as possible now, but somehow they were still tingling.

It took John a couple of seconds before he noticed the reason why. Sherlock was massaging his feet with his own.

John couldn't help but steal a glance over the rim of his laptop's screen. Was Sherlock aware of what he was doing or was it simply yet another nervous tick he had? Was this really happening? Was Sherlock Holmes playing footsie with him? He stopped writing in order to concentrate on the unfamiliar sensation. He knew Sherlock's feet were a few sizes bigger than his but actually feeling it was a whole different matter.

His toes were like little fingers, caressing the back of John's feet and tickling their sides. Sometimes he seemed to actually massage his friend's feet with the ball of his foot. The tingling was no longer confined to his legs, now it spread beyond his hips and into his stomach, all the way up his spine. It took John a lot of effort not to move but he managed to do it, because somehow he knew that if he moved Sherlock would stop.

He looked back at his screen and saw his unfinished blog entry. He pressed the control and the A key and after yet another long stroke against the underside of his foot he pressed delete. The anger about his flatmate's unreasonable behaviour had vanished.


	50. Sound

**Chapter Summary:** The first time that John hears Sherlock recite poetry. Prompt: Sound

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N:** Since this is the fiftieth chapter of this story I'd like to thank all of my readers. As a little present to all of us I decided to imagine Benedict Cumberbatch reciting Shakespeare's sonnet 29. I think it's rather fitting for our two favourite flatmates. **Please note that this a direct follow up to chapter 28 'Cluedo'**. FYI: this prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>It was late after dusk when Nicolette's parents were brought to St. Bart's. They were allowed a brief reunion with their daughter before they were taken away to be examined themselves, since their abductors had not exactly been gentle with them. They took the time to shake Sherlock's hand and thank him for his assistance in finding him and staying with their daughter in their absence.<p>

Sherlock was pleasant enough towards the little girl's parents, he even complimented them on the intellect of their offspring. After they had been ushered out off the room he turned to Nicolette who was still sitting in her hospital bed.

"I think it's time for John and me to go home now and I'm almost certain it's past your bedtime as well." His voice was calm as he completely ignored the tears of joy that were still running down her cheeks.

"Please don't leave yet. I can't sleep without a bedtime story and mum and dad will be gone for at least another hour." She pleaded, her eyes still glimmering with wetness.

"You're eight years old and still need a bedtime story?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow but the little girl just nodded shyly. "Well, I don't know any stories and I'm sure you don't want to hear any of John's war stories. They're all rather unsuitable for children."

"It doesn't need to be a story. I just need something to listen to. You could even read out the hospital menu for all I care." She already hugged a little pillow tightly to her chest and lay down.

Sherlock smirked at her stubbornness and conceded. "That would be rather uninspired though, wouldn't it? How about I recite you a sonnet?"

"Go ahead." She said and snuggled herself into the blanket.

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the hospital bed while John sat down again on the chair that stood right next to it.

Sherlock breathed for calmly for a few seconds before he began to recite: "When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, / I all alone beweep my outcast state/ And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries / And look upon myself and curse my fate,"

John had never heard Sherlock speak like this before. The sound of the detective's voice had long ago become familiar and he had learned to interpret the meanings in his friend's tone and choice of words. He had heard Sherlock, yell, whisper, hiss, admire, deduce, talk with disdain or great fondness, but never before had he heard him recite. The dark tenor of Sherlock's voice became softer than he had ever heard it before and the intensity of it gave him goose bumps.

John had never thought of himself as much of a poetry man, but now it felt like Sherlock's careful pronunciation of each word made the meaning of the lines as obvious as the stars' light on the night sky. The narrator's loneliness in the first quatrain shone like the polestar in the firmament.

Sherlock looked intently at the little girl before him when he continued. "Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, / Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,/ Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, / With what I most enjoy contented least; "

John knew the feeling that the lines described. He had found himself numerous times wishing for somebody else's ability to hope, to be more like someone else. It was the most human thing to do.

A smile crept onto the face of the world's only consulting detective as he recited the next quatrain. "Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, / Haply I think on thee, and then my state, / Like to the lark at break of day arising / From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;"

Yes, there was someone out there, a friend on whom you could count. And as if Sherlock had been able to hear John's thoughts he turned his head and looked straight at his friend when reached the final couplet.

"For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings / That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

All of a sudden John had the suspicion that Sherlock had not chosen this sonnet for Nicolette, who had already fallen asleep, but for him. It was just like his best friend not to simply say such a thing but to put it in a more elegant, less direct form. Challenging him to figure it out. These words of loneliness that were replaced by the gratitude for a true friend were a perfect description of their relationship.


	51. Monitor

**Chapter Summary:** Sherlock is dead and yet John finds himself in front of his laptop. Post-Reichenbach character study. Prompt: Monitor

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

**A/N: **Even though I haven't updated in quite some time I still got a message from this site every few days, telling somebody had added one of my stories to their favourites or someone had left a review for me. This chapter is dedicated to all these lovely people, but especially to my newest reader Rastabanana, who left me a few very nice reviews at just the right time to get me to write : this prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

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><p>He's sitting there, staring at the blank screen in front of him. His life used to be filled with all sorts of activities, but the biggest amount of his time used to be taken up by Sherlock's escapades and the solving of their cases. That was just a week ago. He misses it so much he can't even bear to think about it. But he also spent a lot of time writing his blog, trying to update it for his fans.<p>

He'd love to say he doesn't have the time to write anymore, but that's a lie and everyone knows it. There's nothing left to write about – plain and simple. His life has become the same boring mess it was before this whirlwind called Sherlock Holmes entered it.

As ridiculous as it sounds he misses writing. This feeling he gets when he sees the white 'sheet' on the monitor slowly filling with words, _his_ words. He liked it, not just because of the positive feedback he used to get, but also because it simply felt good to write it all down, get his thoughts in order,

His therapist suggested he'd write fiction instead, short stories perhaps. He is a doctor, a veteran, an ex-internet phenomenon. Surely he'd have a lot of great observations about the world to share in a fictional context. It could help him cope with everything, could give him the opportunity to say everything he otherwise can't bare to even think. She just doesn't understand.

All his writing had been so closely linked to Sherlock Holmes that there is simply no way he could go on without him. He has nothing to write about, nobody to criticise his work, nobody to sneer at the comments he'd get on the street, nobody to bicker with in the comment section while they sit in the same room. Really, what would be the point of putting any words of his own out there without Sherlock Holmes to inspire, read and belittle them?


End file.
